


Rare Is This Love, Keep It Covered

by SJtrinity



Series: I Need You To Run To Me [1]
Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - X-Men Fusion, Basically They're The X-Men Blue Team, F/M, Hozier Strikes Again, M/M, Not Beta Read, Period Typical Attitudes, This Is Ridiculous But Ima Treat It Like It's Deadly Serious, Title from a Hozier Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:42:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 108,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22094281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SJtrinity/pseuds/SJtrinity
Summary: All of sensation was a curse, Eugene reflected, when every faculty a person possessed just drew them on and on, towards a precipice they would simply topple from if they ever reached its edge.
Relationships: Andrew A. "Ack-Ack" Haldane/Edward "Hillbilly" Jones, Merriell "Snafu" Shelton/Eugene Sledge, R. V. Burgin/Florence Risely
Series: I Need You To Run To Me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1743913
Comments: 43
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I plan on posting every two weeks, although I might bump it up to weekly if I get ahead of myself enough.  
> If you're an X-Men fan, don't kill me. I just stripped what I wanted and ran away with it screaming, like a Jawa.

It was late by the time they arrived, the car's dim headlights illuminating their view of the estate in slices, so that Eugene only had the barest impression of the approach. It was long, and it was winding, and he really couldn't say anymore about it than that. The road was fairly narrow, but paved with some sort of stonework instead of gravel or asphalt, arranged in a pleasingly simple pattern. They followed the pattern all the way to where it ended, spilling out into a large circle drive, at the center of which stood a tall tree. It was bare of its foliage, its branches shooting out straight and spindly, but it was still quite the sight, the lone focus of the courtyard.  
"What kind do you suppose it is?" Eugene asked, knowing his father was looking at it too.  
"Hard to say without its leaves," his father said. "I suppose you'll have to look to your book." Eugene looked away from the tree, looked at the house.  
Could it really even be called a house? He didn't know when a house stopped being a house and started being a mansion, but he was fairly sure that this one had crossed that divide. It wrapped its way around nearly the whole circle drive, after all, and was three stories tall, and seemed to be made up of nothing but large, jutting windows all lit up from the inside. For all that, the front entrance was surprisingly small and welcoming, just a few steps up to a door framed by two columns. Eugene stared at the door, thought he saw movement on the other side. He turned and looked at his father.   
"Son." His father put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "It's not too late, just keep that in mind. You don't have to do this if you don't want to."  
"Don't I?" Eugene could feel his mouth twist with the bitterness, tried to turn it into a wry smile. "What would I do instead?"  
"Anything," his father answered, so seriously, as if he really believed it. "There are other folk that can help us, get you somewhere safe."  
_But I'm what's dangerous_ , Eugene thought. _I'm what's unsafe_. He didn't say it though, knew his father would protest; they'd been over it all many times before. "I want to do this, Father," he said instead, and that was true too, true enough. "I want to help."  
His father's hand half-lifted, a gesture quickly aborted, but Eugene flinched back from it anyways. His father sighed and looked away, eyes pained. "Eugene," he said gravely. "Remember this, please." He turned and looked back at him. "It doesn't matter what they say you are, it doesn't matter what they say your purpose is. You keep your true purpose in here," and he touched Eugene's chest gently. "Hold on to it."  
"Yes, Father," Eugene said obediently, feeling it splinter in him again, the difference between what his father believed and the truth. His father smiled at him, then glanced behind him, smile going flat.   
"Well, there they are," he said, and Eugene turned, saw a man and a woman standing in the doorway. "We'd best go on and introduce ourselves."  
They climbed out of the car and Eugene circled around to the trunk to grab his suitcase before following after his father. Christ it was cold, he'd never experienced cold like this, and he was grudgingly grateful for the shearling jacket his mother had insisted on purchasing for him before he left. He'd told her the cold couldn't harm him, and he was fairly certain that was true, but it still felt good to have its soft warmth around him.   
"Dr. Sledge?" The man in the doorway said, and his father nodded in reply. "And you must be Eugene," he said, turning to him.  
"Good evening, sir," Eugene said. He stood by his father at the foot of the steps, looking up at them. The woman was young, a girl really, Eugene thought she must be his own age or even younger. She had long brown hair falling straight and unadorned past her shoulders and large gray eyes. She smiled at him and Eugene suddenly felt a little better.  
"Florence," the man said mildly, and the girl's smile fell.  
"I'm sorry," she said, staring wide-eyed at Eugene. He stared back, bemused. The man put a hand on her shoulder and she nodded as if he'd said something. "I'll go make some coffee," she said, and turned and went back into the house. She had a strange accent. Eugene and his father exchanged uneasy looks. The man chuckled, shifted a bit.  
"We're off to a start already, aren't we?" He said. "Please, come in. Let's get out of the cold and sit down and talk properly." He gestured and Eugene and his father walked inside. The man shut the door behind them, turned around to face them. "I'm Andrew Haldane."  
He had a kind face, that was the first thing Eugene noticed about him. Dark eyes, rumpled hair, a few days worth of a scruffy beard, like he couldn't be bothered to make himself look too neat. Haldane looked at him even as he had the thought, smiled with his eyes, and Eugene realized with horror what he was.   
"Please," Haldane said, holding up a hand. "Don't feel afraid, and don't worry about offending me with any thoughts you might have. I only pick up surface thoughts unless I'm actively trying to look for something more, and I would never invade your privacy in that manner." He looked back and forth between them. "You don't know me, but I hope my actions will assure you in time. I value your personal rights, and will not infringe on them."  
"Ah," his father said. "Ah, so you are, that is, ah, you can,"  
"Read people's thoughts, yes," Haldane said calmly. "I can also communicate directly with a person in the same way. Would you like to try it?"  
"Oh, no thank you - " his father said.  
"Yes," Eugene said at the same time. Haldane nodded understandingly at his father.  
_You're right about me_. Eugene nearly jumped, it was startling, to hear his voice so clearly in his own head. _I hate shaving, can't be bothered with it most days_. Haldane looked over at him, smiled briefly. Eugene fought back an answering smile. "Why don't we talk in my study?" Haldane suggested, and Eugene and his father followed him through a large room and down a hallway. The walls were white, the furniture mismatched but sumptuous. Eugene's hands were sweating inside his gloves, he suddenly couldn't believe that he was here, that it was actually happening. They entered the study and Haldane went up to his desk but didn't sit, propping his hip against the edge instead. "Make yourselves comfortable. I know you have concerns, Dr. Sledge, and I want to address them." Eugene sat down on one of the chairs arranged in front of the desk, but his father stayed standing, placed himself sentinel-like beside Eugene's seat.  
"This was Eugene's decision," he said. "And I respect that. But you're correct, I am very concerned about this," he paused, continued. "This _arrangement_ you have with the military. From what little they deigned to explain to me, my son would serve, the same as any other young man, but would not be afforded an actual rank, or receive any of the benefits that come after his duty to his country is fulfilled. Most concerning of all, his secret will be known to every man he serves alongside, and we are supposed to simply trust that they won't use the knowledge against him when he returns home." _If_ , Eugene thought to himself, grim satisfaction, and Haldane's gaze flicked to him and back to his father. "Frankly, Mr. Haldane, I don't see how this is a legitimate operation."  
"Please, call me Andy," Haldane murmured. He glanced at his desk, sat down behind it with a light grimace. "It's all above board, barely. And yes, the offer, if we can call it that, is not fair to my students."  
"Students?" Eugene's father asked.  
"It's how I think of them," Haldane answered. "It's what I originally intended this estate to be, when I first put the word out. As I'm sure you're aware, there are many hidden places of refuge and secret havens across the country for people of our sort who need a place to hide, lie low. I had a more specific purpose in mind. I wanted to take in mutants whose abilities made them a danger to themselves and others, who could potentially be guided and trained to harness their powers, control them." He looked levelly at Eugene as he spoke. Eugene glared back. He wasn't here for that. Haldane looked back at his father, smiled sadly. "It went well, for a couple of years. Then we entered the war, and I received a visit from some very official gentlemen." His face darkened. "I won't lie, I considered wiping their minds, sending them back as blank slates, a warning to their superiors. But I realized that I had to go along with it, at least in part, if my mission was to have any hope of succeeding."  
"Your mission for this, ah, school?" His father asked.  
"For the school, yes, and also for my kind as a whole. My mission is to see the day when mutants are accepted by humans, allowed to live openly and safely alongside them." He said it calmly, steadily, like it was something that he would see done and that was the end of it. It stunned Eugene, stirred something in him. He glanced at his father, saw he was moved too. The door opened and the young woman walked in, carrying a silver tray and coffee service. "Eugene, this is Florence Risely, one of my students. She's been with us for about a year and a half now. I have five students in total, six now including you, and Florence is the only one spared in this agreement with the military."  
"It's due to the delicacy of my sex," Florence said, straight-faced, then tipped them a wink. Haldane chuckled and Eugene exchanged a wary glance with his father. Florence looked at him, smiled. _Cream and sugar?_  
Eugene startled a little, stared hard at her. Her smile was inviting, asking him to join in on the fun. _Yes, please_ , he thought back at her, not sure what he was supposed to do.  
_No need to shout it_ , she said in reply and Eugene could feel her amusement like little ripples through the words. Haldane was watching them with something like enjoyment, his father with something like suspicion. "Do you take cream or sugar, Dr. Sledge?" Florence asked, distracting him. She passed the coffee out, poured a cup for herself, then stood in the corner behind Haldane's desk and sipped it as Haldane continued speaking.  
"It's dangerous, just as dangerous for my students as it is for every young man being sent over to fight, if not more so. But I don't intend to send them unprepared. Our focus has shifted to working together as a unit, the different ways their abilities complement one another. And the military has assigned a man to us, to see that they receive the same level of training that every soldier receives."  
His father was moving his weight back and forth between either foot, restless, working his way up to saying something. "Eugene is a gentle boy, Mr. Haldane," he blurted out.  
"Father - " Eugene tried to cut in, mortified, but his father barreled on.  
"I know his abilities may make him seem a natural choice for this sort of, ah, assignment, but I know my son. Eugene was meant for more than this, this weaponization of his gifts."  
The anger was a hot burst, firing through him. "Gifts?" He spat, incredulous, and the coffee cup shattered in his hand. He felt himself flush with embarrassment and lingering fury. The coffee had been hot, and felt unpleasant where it had spilled on him, but it wasn't near enough to cause him any real discomfort, not anymore.  
"If your son was the type of person who took naturally to killing, there would be no place for him here," Haldane said to Eugene's father. He didn't look at Eugene. "Dr. Sledge, please, have a seat. I'm relieved that you feel comfortable enough to speak frankly with me, and I hope you'll allow me to speak frankly in turn." His father sat, stiffly, and Haldane turned to Eugene. "Eugene, let Florence take you to the kitchen, get you cleaned up. Your father and I will be along shortly."  
He knew when he was being shuffled off, but didn't know what else to do but go along with it. He gathered the broken bits of glass in one sopping gloved hand, stood up, dripping coffee and resentment. Florence gave him a reassuring smile and gestured for him to follow after her, and they left the room under a deliberate silence.  
"Kitchen's this way," Florence said, leading him back the way they had come and then further on into the house, past a set of winding stairs that Eugene glanced up at briefly as they went along. Her accent was odd, lifting up at the end of the sentences, almost like a question.   
"Are you from England?" He asked, and she looked over her shoulder at him.  
"Australia. There are places similar to this over there, closer to home, but there's no one else like Andy. Once I found out about him, I knew I had to come here, no other place would do."  
"How'd you hear about him, all the way over there?" Eugene asked. They entered the kitchen and Florence reached into a drawer, pulled out a handful of towels. She tapped a finger against her temple, gave a little shrug.   
"He's the most powerful telepath in the world, and I'm, well." Her face grew sober, she handed the towels to Eugene, holding his gaze. "Let's just say I'm 'gifted' too." The note of sourness in her voice was a small comfort to Eugene, and he instantly felt guilty for it. "It's alright," Florence said, as if she knew. "It is nice, being around other people in a similar situation."  
"What's yours?" Eugene asked. "If that isn't rude," he added hastily. "I've only ever known one other mutant, least that I knew of." He dumped the broken glass into the trash bin, started drying himself off.  
"It's not rude, at least not to me, in the situation we're in. I've got a couple of different things, it's a bit of a mess, really." She made a face. "Telekinesis, that's the only one I really like, I wish that was the end of it. Empathy, that one's alright, I suppose. It's what I did to you earlier." She looked at him guiltily. "I'm really sorry, it was wrong of me. You're just," she gestured vaguely with her hand, "very open, you know?" Eugene stared at her blankly. "I suppose you wouldn't know, how would you?" She muttered, mostly to herself. "I could just feel all of it, it was quite a lot actually, so I pushed another feeling at you, an 'it'll get better' feeling." It clicked into place then. Eugene remembered how she had smiled at him, how he had instantly felt a little lighter. "I shouldn't have done it," she said.  
"No," Eugene said tightly. "You shouldn't have." She looked so miserable though, he couldn't hold on to it. "It's not the worse thing, I suppose, wanting to make someone feel better," he said, extending the olive branch. Florence seized it gratefully, beaming at him with relief. "What do you mean, when you say I'm open?" He asked.  
"Oh," she said with a sigh. "I don't know how to explain it. You're just not closed off. It's a good thing, really. No one else here is open like that, some of them keep themselves shut up so tight you'd almost think they didn't feel anything at all. But they're not psychopaths or anything," she said hastily. "Just, we all came here with a past that we're trying to escape from, one way or another."  
"I see," Eugene said, although he really didn't. He cleared his throat. "You're a telepath too, aren't you? You spoke to me, earlier."  
"Yes," Florence answered. "That's the worst one of all. I hate it, the thoughts I hear that I'm not meant to, the things I could do so easily, if I forget myself, don't keep it tightly leashed. I'm not like Andy." She looked at Eugene, big gray eyes. "He makes it seem so easy, he has excellent control. He says it will get better for me with time, but," she stopped, looked away.   
Eugene dropped the towels on the counter and moved to the sink. He peeled off his wet gloves, wrung them out. "I'm sure he wouldn't say it if it wasn't true," he said. He didn't really know the man, but it was clear to see. He wasn't the type to tell a lie just to make a body feel better. He pulled the damp gloves back on, frowning in distaste, then turned back around. Florence was watching him with a strange expression.   
"I like you," she declared, and smiled. "Probably because you're all open," she said teasingly. Eugene felt himself get a little hot, pleasure and worry, Christ, surely she wasn't saying anything like _that_ , they had just met and it was not going to happen, for so many reasons. Florence laughed and waved both her hands in front of her. "Not like that. I just meant, I think we're going to get along."  
"Oh," Eugene said, bracing his hands behind him on the edge of the counter. "That's good." He smiled back at her, embarrassed and relieved. "Yeah, I think so too."  
They were still smiling awkwardly at each other when another boy walked in. He stopped short when he saw them, stared back and forth between them. "Who's this?" He asked, looking Eugene up and down. He was short and stocky, blunt-featured. His hair was blondish, his eyes bright.  
"Like you don't know," Florence said, rolling her eyes. "This is Eugene Sledge. Eugene, this is Bill Leyden. He's new here too, just arrived a few weeks ago."  
"Pleased to meet you," Eugene said politely.  
"Yeah, alright," Bill said.  
"Don't let him fool you, he's been waiting on you to show up," Florence said, grinning at Bill. "The other kids won't play with him," she mock-confided to Eugene. Bill scowled.  
"Smokestacking," he said in explanation to Eugene. "It's stupid, like they actually think we're in the military or something."  
"No, it's because you're sixteen, Bill," Florence said. Eugene looked at Bill in surprise.   
"I'll be eighteen by the time they send us over, that's all that matters," Bill said stoutly. Florence looked deliberately at him, and he waved her away as if she'd said something, maybe she had for all Eugene knew. "Anyways, it's a good thing you're here. Now the training can really kick off."  
"Bright and early tomorrow morning," Haldane said, coming up behind Bill. "So try to be well rested." He looked at Eugene. "Your father's waiting for you."   
He swallowed, nodded. "Excuse me," he said, and waited for Bill and Haldane to step out of the doorway before moving past them. He found his father standing by his suitcase, running his hand along the top of it. He looked up as Eugene entered the room, gave him a sad smile.   
"Well, here we are, son." His voice was grave, even. "You'll write regularly?"  
"Of course," Eugene assured him. "And you'll keep me informed about Ed, and about." He stopped abruptly, suddenly unable to speak. His father nodded.  
"Of course." He gestured. "Can I?" His arms lifted, opened. Eugene nodded warily, stepped close to him and hugged him. His father's arms locked around him, squeezed tight. Eugene let himself enjoy it, the contact, the warmth. But he couldn't lose himself in it entirely, not when he had to carefully monitor the force of his own embrace, not when his father tried to lean his cheek against his hair and he had to jerk back, pull away.   
"Give my love to Mother," Eugene said, disentangling himself, trying to move past the moment and its sting. His father grabbed his forearm, his grip firm.  
"You remember what I said, Eugene," he said. Eugene nodded, wanting to pull back, away from the love and pain in his face. But he held his gaze, and that seemed to satisfy something in his father. He let go, turned to the door. Eugene followed him out, stood in the doorway and watched him get in the car, waved to him as he drove away. Grief was heavy in him, but also a strange feeling of weightlessness, like he had shrugged off a burden. The burden of having someone constantly telling him that he was something other than what he was, he supposed. He looked at the tree, tall and bare and alone. He closed the door and turned around, was surprised to see Bill standing by his suitcase.  
"Goodbyes, right?" He said, nodding at the door. "That's why I snuck out in the middle of the night. Left a note. It's easier that way." Eugene just stared at him. "Anyways, I'm supposed to show you your room." He grabbed the suitcase, turned and headed towards the stairs. Eugene followed after him. "Heard you're a heavy hitter," Bill said. "Ask me, you're exactly what we need to round us out. The other boys, they're all better at a distance, can't handle themselves any better than a human when it comes to getting up close and personal."  
"What about you?" Eugene asked, skipping over answering any questions about himself. "Are you a heavy hitter too?"   
"Nah, me, I'm just good at getting hit," Bill said with a huffing laugh. "It's not what I'd call fun, but it's useful."  
Eugene frowned, trying to make sense of his words. "Well, maybe I'll be able to help with that too," he said, and Bill stopped at the top of the stairs, turned around and looked at him.  
"What, you can take some hits?" Eugene shrugged.  
"Never had any way to really test it before, but I think so."   
Bill grinned big. "Well, let's test it then," he said and his fist snapped out, aiming for Eugene's jaw. Alarm and panic shot through him, and he reached up and caught his fist in his gloved hand, grip too hard. He felt the crunch of bone beneath his hand, let go with a muffled exclamation, and nearly tripped over his own feet stepping backwards on the stairs, catching himself on the banister. He glared up at Bill, who was shaking his hand out, still grinning like an idiot.  
"Are your crazy?" He bit out. "Are you alright?"   
"You think that's crazy, you're in for a shock tomorrow," Bill answered. "Yeah, I'm alright." He looked Eugene over approvingly. "You've got good reflexes. Hell of a handshake, too."  
"Don't try that again," Eugene said, and Bill scoffed. "I'm not joking," he said furiously. "I have a," he fumbled over his words. "A skin condition. You don't want to come into contact with it."  
"What, really?" Bill said. "So, you can't touch anything?" He looked at Eugene's gloved hands.   
"Nothing with a heartbeat," Eugene said, short. Bill nodded slowly.  
"Sorry," he said. "Sounds rough." Eugene looked away, and Bill cleared his throat. "Your room's just down the hall. The third floor's basically all bedrooms, we're all up here except for Andy and Flo. Come on." Eugene followed him down a hallway and stopped at a door at the end. Bill handed him his suitcase, and Eugene looked at him.   
"Is your hand really alright?" Bill grinned, cocky. He held his hand up, moved his fingers back and forth.  
"Like I said, it's my thing. Accelerated healing. Haldane says its adaptive accelerated healing, which means each time I get hurt, my body learns from it, and I just heal faster and faster. You broke some bones, but that's nothing for me, these days."  
Eugene thought about it for a moment. "You're right," he said finally. "Useful, but not fun."  
"Yeah, well," Bill's grin turned down at the edges. "What about any of it is fun, when you get right down to it?" Eugene nodded in agreement, shifted his shoulders. "Anyways, training starts way too fucking early in the morning, so I'm heading to bed."  
"Goodnight," Eugene said. He watched Bill head back down the hall, then entered his room, looked around. It wasn't anything fancy, just a small space with a single bed on one side, a desk on the other, tucked up against the window. Eugene crossed over to the window, looked out. The view was of the trees surrounding the property. It would be a nice view in warmer weather, he supposed. Now, with everything locked down and pared away by the cold, it was eerie, all sparse strange shapes. Eugene turned away, stripped himself out of his damp, coffee stained clothes. The gloves came off last, it was always such a relief to take them off at the end of the day. He ran his hands reflexively over the wood of the desk, the brass knob of the door handle, his own skin. He redressed in his pajamas, then pulled out the sheaf of paper he had brought along with him, set it neatly on the edge of the desk. He sat down, pulled off the top sheet. He held the pen but didn't write, closing his eyes instead, letting it out. He felt the love well up in him, overwhelming, desperate and urgent. He worked hard most of the time to keep all that separate, but letting himself feel it made it easier to write, to be sincere. He opened his eyes, set the pen to the paper.  
_Dear Mary,_ he wrote.


	2. Chapter 2

He woke up to someone knocking briskly on his door, then opening it without waiting on a reply or invitation. Still mostly asleep, he lifted his head and saw a new face in the doorway. This one had a firm jaw and a bold nose. He was also wearing sunglasses, red-tinted, held securely in place by a band around his head. Eugene blinked, disconcerted.  
"It's your first day," the stranger said. "So I'll give you a pass. Haney will have your hide if you show up late for training, so I suggest you get your ass dressed and outside, now. You've already missed your shot at breakfast." He disappeared from the doorway as quickly as he came. Eugene threw himself out of bed and into his clothes, then made his way downstairs before stopping, lost. He had no idea where he was supposed to go from here. He supposed the front door was out, so he wandered around the main level of the house until he found a door that exited the back of the property.   
He didn't see Florence, but aside from her it looked like every resident of the house was gathered together. Haldane was standing to one side, talking with an older man wearing a service uniform. A little distance away, Leyden was standing with three other boys. They turned to look at him as he closed the door, started making his way down to them.   
"Jesus," one of them said. He had a boyish face and dark eyes. "This guy's supposed to round off the team?" He snickered. "What the hell is he wearing?" They were all dressed similarly, Eugene noticed, in jersey pants and long-sleeved shirts and sturdy boots. Eugene hadn't brought anything like that along with him, and so was dressed like he always was, in a button up shirt tucked into his trousers, thin leather gloves on his hands and oxfords on his feet, his shearling jacket thrown hastily over the whole of it.   
"We'll have to see about getting you a more appropriate set of clothes," Haldane said, tone gentle, eyes amused.   
"The hell," the man standing beside him growled, stalking up to Eugene, uncomfortably close. "You show up dressed like you're ready for high fucking tea with her goddamn majesty, then that's how you'll train." He had light blue eyes that bore into Eugene's. "Lose the jacket and the shoes."  
"Are you serious?" Eugene asked, not thinking, reactive. The man's face grew impossibly more furious.  
"Did you hear a fucking punch line?" He said, and then launched into a tirade so littered with obscenities, Eugene could barely process it.   
He stood rigidly, fighting to keep himself from flushing red, and barely managed a weak "Yes, sir," once the man finally wound down. He shrugged out of his jacket and peeled off his shoes and socks. The man yelled at him to move his ass, and he found himself running, following after the other boys, who were now all jogging along a narrow worn path that wound across the property, through the trees. Leyden was jogging alongside him; Eugene looked over at him, stunned. Bill grinned at him.  
"That's Haney," he said. "Don't worry about it, he tears into everyone like that." He looked down at Eugene's bare feet. "Guess we'll see what you can take, eh?"   
"Yeah," Eugene said faintly. He wasn't really concerned about it. He suspected it would take a cold far more extreme than this to do his body any harm. The sensation wasn't pleasant but then again, sensation of any type had its own value, he knew that better than anyone. He and Bill ran side by side and didn't talk. It was nice, Eugene realized. He didn't think he was supposed to be enjoying himself, running barefoot through a forest in below freezing temperature, but he was somehow managing it. It felt good to run, to move light and loose-limbed beside a person who could keep up. He glanced over at Bill, saw him grin, felt an answering smile pull at his lips. "Alright, Bill," he said, suddenly feeling competitive, carefree. He picked up the pace, let himself go. He heard Bill curse happily behind him, saw him reappear at his side out of the corner of his eye.   
He had never run like this before. He had scarcely left his house after the accident, and when he did it was mostly for long, solitary walks across his father's property. He'd wondered, abstractly, what the outer limits of his strength and endurance might be; he supposed now he might soon find out. Bill was lighter on his feet than Eugene had expected, his entire body moving with a seamless ease that Eugene couldn't match, punching forward, a force of nature. But his endurance wasn't endless, he still had to pace himself, and that gave Eugene the advantage.   
They ran and ran, Eugene didn't know how long it when on. They flew past the other boys a handful of times, but he scarcely noticed them, he was having too much damn fun, for the first time in years. Finally Bill threw up a hand, slowed back down to an easy jog. "Jesus Christ, you win, alright?" His pleased tone belied his words. Eugene paced himself to jog alongside him, barely winded.  
"I suppose this is one of the benefits of your accelerated healing," he said. "You take easily to conditioning."  
"Yeah," Bill huffed. "You'll be good for helping that along. Shit." He suddenly glanced behind him, grimaced. "Aw hell, here they come." Eugene looked over his shoulder, saw the three other boys moving to catch up with them. "You take this one, I've had to deal with them for weeks now by myself." Bill increased his pace, moving ahead, and Eugene slowed down a bit more, let them catch up with him.   
"Impressive," the one wearing the red sunglasses said. He spoke evenly, affect a little flat. It was hard to get a read on him, lips and jaw set in a firm line, eyes obscured, but he didn't seem unfriendly. "How're your feet?"  
"Oh," Eugene said. He glanced down at them, looked back up. "Fine, I think."  
The boy raised a brow, but didn't question him further on it. "I'm Burgin," he said. He had a southern accent, Texan if Eugene had to hazard a guess. He gestured behind them. "That's Snafu, and that man's Jay De L'Eau." Snafu grunted and Jay looked Eugene up and down with something like amusement. "Welcome to the team."  
"Thank you," Eugene said, polite, careful. Burgin nodded to him, and then pulled ahead, the other two following after. Snafu, bringing up the rear, slowed for a moment and looked him over. He had dark, curling hair, a strange face. There was something derisive in his smile, some sort of challenge in the look he slanted Eugene's way. Eugene stared back at him and Snafu bit the corner of his bottom lip, mocking smile still in place, and moved on.  
The rest of the morning passed in what Eugene assumed was standard military training. After running for over an hour they did push-ups. Haney crouched beside Eugene and chewed him out nearly the entire time. Eugene didn't understand what the purpose was behind it, but at least it got his heart racing a bit, something the push-ups certainly didn't manage to do. After that, they moved on to rifle training. Eugene was familiar but not particularly skilled with firearms. He did alright, but was by far the worse shot of the five of them. Haldane stood quietly to the side throughout, watching, but separate, set apart. It continued on in that vein until near noon, at which point the mood shifted, a snap of excitement working its way through the group. Haney looked at Haldane and nodded, and that seemed to be the signal for everyone to start walking across the property, cutting straight through the trees and not following the path they had jogged along earlier.  
It was starting to get a little old, not knowing what the hell was going on. Eugene had been kept too busy to dwell on it so far, but now, walking along to God only knew where, he could feel his annoyance start to build. He was surprised when Jay dropped back to walk beside him, started talking like he was picking a conversation back up that they had left unfinished. "Haldane's loaded, but it has its limits, you know? He and Haney have done what they can, but we're having to make a lot of it up as we go."  
"What?" Eugene said, lost.  
"You'll see." Jay gestured in front of them with a nod of his head. "We're here."  
'Here' was a wide clearing of trees, obviously man-made, filled with a bunch of junk. There were steel girders stacked here and there, and some had been connected together into structure-like simulacrums. There were concrete slabs, some laying flat, some stood up on their sides, dotted throughout the space. There were barrels and crates, arranged together to form barriers and blockades. Tall wooden poles, long thick iron bars, a damn wrecking ball. Eugene stared, tried to take it all in.  
"Jay, we'll start with you," Haldane said, and Jay nodded, shook his hands out. Haney paced back and forth behind him, and suddenly barked out, "Uppermost barrel, two o'clock," and Jay lifted his hands and two bright lights appeared, encircling each hand, one blue, one white, and as quickly as they appeared they shot off, curving through the air and exploding against the barrel with a noise like a firework going off. The barrel flew apart and Haney said, "Inside corner of the far building, lower left," and Jay shot off two more balls of light, but they weren't balls of light because they detonated on impact and made the steel structure that they had struck shake. Eugene watched, stunned.   
It was an informative afternoon. Mutants were everywhere, Eugene knew that, and the different shapes their mutations could take were vast. But for the most part they were simply things that had to be lived with, ignored or worked around in order to have something close to a normal life. But every mutant on Haldane's estate was an example of how terrifyingly powerful a mutation could make a person. Creating pyrotechnic explosions with a thought, the ability to alter a person's mood, read their innermost secrets. All that, and he was still the worst one of all, a deadly leech.  
Jay was able to control where his explosions went and when they exploded, and the focus seemed to be on perfecting that control. They really did seem like fireworks to Eugene, loud and garish and capable of being any range of colors. Haney dressed Jay down over that eventually, told him to keep them white unless he wanted to be picked out as a mutant by the enemy right off. Burgin followed after Jay; Eugene watched as he fiddled with something on the side of his sunglasses and a beam of red light shot out and shattered a crate. It seemed that Burgin's only limit was his own eyes; as long as he could see it he could hit it unerringly. Haney and Haldane were having him work on controlling the size and intensity of the beams he emitted. He ruptured one of the steel girders with a particularly powerful blast, and, even more impressively, drilled a small hole directly through the wrecking ball with a small, tightly controlled beam. Eugene joined the other boys in gathering around the wrecking ball afterwards.   
"Straight through," Snafu called out, probing at the edges of the exit hole. He was wearing fingerless gloves, cut ragged along the knuckles. "Shit, Burgie, you've always been boring, but this is a whole 'nother thing."  
"My God, Snafu," Burgin said. It was a terrible joke, but Eugene found himself smiling along with the rest of the boys at Snafu's words. It faded when Haldane spoke.  
"Eugene, you're up. Are you ready?" Eugene straightened, settled his hands stiffly along his sides.  
"Yes, sir," he said, and Jay snickered. Haney was looking at him, eyes assessing but not hard.  
"I understand you're strong," he said. His gaze moved, he nodded at a concrete slab lying on the ground. "Hit that, let's see what you can do."  
The silence was expectant, the weight of their eyes heavy. Eugene walked over to the slab, stood over it. He raised a fist, then stopped, took his glove off and stuffed it in his back pocket. Then, before he could work himself up over it more, he raised his fist up and brought it back down, let it go. It felt good to not hold back, to feel the impact of his hand against the cold concrete. The slab fell apart in chunks around his fist, thick lines splintering out from the force of the blow. Eugene pulled back up, looked at his hand. It was a little red, but otherwise fine.   
Bill let out a whoop and started to say something but Haney cut him off with a snapped, "Shut it." He walked over to Eugene, shaking his head. "I don't care how fucking strong you are, I still expect you to make a proper goddamn fist. Move your fucking thumb."  
He reached for Eugene's hand and Eugene yanked back with a sharp, "Wait." He pulled his glove back on hastily, looked back at Haney. "Sorry," he muttered. "Sir."  
"Your thumb goes on the outside of your fist," Haney said gruffly, grabbing Eugene's gloved hand and arranging his fingers. "Like that, got it?"  
"Got it," Eugene said, ridiculously relieved that the man had moved past the moment without making an issue of it.   
"I suppose now is as good a time as any to make this clear to everyone," Haldane said, and Eugene's heart sank. "Eugene has the ability to absorb the powers, skills, and memories of any person that he comes into skin to skin contact with. So far, this contact has been damaging to the person he touches. With that in mind, everyone should take care to avoid direct contact of that nature."  
"Christ," Bill said. "That's your skin condition?" He barked a laugh. "All that, and you can tear apart concrete like it's tissue paper, too?"  
"It ain't nothing to get worked up about," Snafu said dismissively. He was leaning against the wrecking ball, arms crossed, expression sour. "No finesse. Hell, the boy's nothing but a sledgehammer."  
"Sledgehammer," Burgin said, considering. His stony expression didn't change, but there was something softer in the tone of his voice. "I like that."  
"Hell," Jay said. "We're not going to be those kinds of mutants, are we? With the aliases and the fake names?"  
"I got one for Leyden," Snafu said. His accent was southern too, but harder for Eugene to place. "Little, fiesty thing that he is. Call him The Badger."  
"Yeah, fuck you, Snafu," Bill said.  
"Alright, settle down," Haldane said, obviously amused. "Snafu, since you seem to have some new insight into finesse, how about you take a turn?"  
"Sure thing," Snafu said easily. "Just give me a target."   
Haldane looked at Eugene. "How about Badger and Sledgehammer?"  
"Jesus," Bill said. "You guys aren't going to actually start calling me that, are you?"  
"We are now," Burgin said, dry.  
It was, Haldane and Haney explained, an excellent exercise for both Eugene and Snafu. Eugene's intended role in the team would primarily be to defend Burgin, Jay and Snafu, and this would be his first lesson in what it could look like to protect someone while under attack. Snafu, meanwhile, got to practice on a moving target. Their goal was to start out in the back of the clearing, and make their way up to where Snafu was standing, at which point the exercise would be over. That was how Eugene found himself, mere moments later, crouched behind a row of crates, which were methodically being blown to bits by explosions of grenade-like force.  
"My God," he said to Bill. "How the hell are we supposed to make it all the way across without getting hit?"  
"Don't think we are," Bill answered. He risked a peek over the top of the crate, then ducked back down with a scowl. "Asshole looks like he's having the time of his life." The crate beside Eugene exploded, bits of wood flying everywhere, bouncing harmlessly off Eugene's skin.   
"How does he do it?" Eugene asked.  
"I don't know how it works. Basically, he can charge objects with explosive power. Supposedly he could charge anything, but the bigger it is, the longer it takes. We gotta move."  
"To hell with this," Eugene said, trying to get a feel for the length of the pauses between explosions. "They want me to get hit, right? Give me a second, then start moving along the side, see if you can reach him." Bill nodded, and Eugene took a deep breath to steady himself, then stood up.  
He was hit immediately, raised his arms up in front of his face to try and protect himself but it didn't do much good. The force of the explosion knocked him backwards on his ass but he was able to scramble back up quickly. He was in pain, he realized with dull surprise, but a quick check showed that he wasn't actually wounded. _Good to know I can still feel it_ , he thought to himself, and then he looked up at Snafu.  
He had paused, possibly concerned that he had actually hurt Eugene. When they locked eyes an odd expression flitted across his face, quickly replaced by one of open calculation. He raised his hand, holding a small rock between his index and middle finger. "Brace yourself, Sledgehammer," he called out.  
Eugene cast about in front of him, saw a chunk of steel plating half embedded in the ground roughly ten yards away. It was twisted and blackened, but still in one piece. He ran towards it, bare feet pounding against the cold, wreckage-littered ground. He'd almost made it when the next blast hit, directly beside him, throwing him into the air and on to his side. He rolled, managed to pull himself up into a crouch. The steel plate was only about ten feet away. He didn't bother to look at Snafu, knew he didn't have much time. He dove forward and yanked it free of the ground, stood up and held it in front of himself. He'd barely managed to plant his feet before the next one hit. The steel chunk took a large part of the impact, the force of it rocking him backwards. But he kept his feet. He lowered his makeshift shield and saw Snafu grinning at him, already holding the next rock.  
"What now, cher?" He said, and then Bill launched himself at him. Snafu saw him a split second before Bill reached him, spun around to face him, but that was all he had time to do before Bill barreled into him and they both fell to the ground. Burgin and Jay both shouted in surprise and excitement, and Eugene dropped the ruined steel plate and braced his hands on his knees and watched them go at it.   
Bill at close quarters was exactly what Eugene had expected him to be, based on what he had seen so far. He was stronger, quicker, and more agile than his stocky frame appeared it could be, and implacably ferocious. What was surprising was Snafu. He twisted and writhed, serpentine, unpredictably nimble, unable to break free but frustrating Bill's attempts to pin him down. There was something eerily graceful about him. Eugene watched, trying to puzzle it out, and was nearly as startled as Bill and Snafu when Haney reached down and hauled them to their feet.  
"The exercise is over," he said gruffly, and gave them both a shove, away from one another. He glared at Bill, then at Eugene. "It was a smart enough idea, but not the objective we gave you. The point was to protect him," and he jabbed a finger at Bill. "You pull shit like that in an actual battle, give away the fact that you're a mutant and what you can do, you've as good as killed yourself, and the rest of your team, you understand me?" He turned his glare on the other boys. "You're supposed to be blending in, striking smart and hard, not engaging in goddamn useless heroics. Is that fucking clear?" Eugene muttered an affirmative along with the rest of the boys, and Haney looked over at Haldane and nodded.  
"Alright boys," Haldane said. "I think we've done enough for the day. Head back to the house, get something to eat. Eugene, it looks like we're going to have to start stocking up on spare training gear for you."  
Eugene blinked, confused, looked down at himself. He was shocked to see that his shirt was hanging off of him in tatters, his pants ripped and scorched in multiple places. He felt a slightly hysterical laugh trying to bubble up in his chest, pushed it back down. "Right," he said, and followed after the other boys as they started making their way up to the house. They walked in silence for a bit, but when Eugene glanced at the others he saw that they were smiling, at nothing, at each other. Eugene felt an answering smile start on his own face. Soon enough they were all grinning like idiots, and Eugene wasn't even sure why. Bill reached over and shoved Jay in the shoulder and Jay shoved him back and Eugene had a sudden and surprising feeling of cohesion, of belonging.  
They reached the house, walked in together, and found Florence sitting cross-legged in an armchair. She was obviously doing some training of her own, because there were objects floating in the air all around her; books, a figurine, a hairbrush, an apple. She looked over when they came in and smiled brightly, but the smile vanished when she saw Eugene. She gave a little cry and jumped up from her seat, all the floating objects falling to the floor with a collective clatter. "Eugene, oh my god, what happened?"  
Eugene felt that same lightness bubbling up. "Snafu happened, I suppose," he said, and looked over at the man.  
"Flo, the boy ain't got no finesse," Snafu said, and that set them off, standing in the doorway and laughing like a pack of fools, while Florence stared back and forth between them, bewildered.


	3. Chapter 3

That evening Eugene peeked his head into the doorway of Haldane's study, entering when Haldane looked up and smiled warmly at him. He took a seat in front of the desk and placed his hands carefully on his knees. Haldane settled himself back in his chair, elbows propped on the armrests. "So," he said. "An eventful first day."  
"Yes," Eugene said in agreement, watching him closely. He was apprehensive. Jay had explained to him that they had the evenings to themselves for the most part, but that Haldane usually pulled one person aside each night for a private conversation. When Eugene had asked him what happened in these individual meetings, Jay had shrugged, a little nervously, and looked away.  
"Could be anything," he said in answer. "Sometimes we work on refining an ability, maybe something that's been giving us trouble. Lots of the time we just talk about, I don't know, whatever might be bothering us I guess." He'd looked incredibly uncomfortable, so Eugene had let it drop. He'd showered and returned to his room, was thinking about adding on to his letter to Mary, when Haldane's voice sounded in his head, asking him to come to his study.  
Looking at him now, Eugene was struck by the realization that Haldane was only a handful of years older than him. He gave off such an air of calm, of collected poise, that Eugene had gone a full day without noticing how young he was. He wondered if it was the nature of his powers that gave him the appearance of a sagacity beyond his years, or if that was just part of who he was. He wondered if the two things could really be separated from one another. Haldane suddenly smiled.  
"You have an interesting mind, Eugene," he said. "You think very intently, piercingly. And you don't shy away from difficult ideas." He raised a hand. "I wasn't reading your thoughts, but I suppose I could describe it as feeling their motion. There are some aspects of my ability that I can't turn off, it's something akin to trying to plug one's ears to stop the noise. Even covered, muffled sound still comes through." His gaze was steady on Eugene, mild but unwavering. "When my powers first manifested, I thought I might go mad. I was very young, and all the voices seemed to be drowning out my own. I couldn't tell which thoughts came from me and which thoughts were being dropped into my head. But with time I learned ways to control it, or at least most aspects of it."  
"It's not the same for everyone," Eugene said flatly. He knew what Haldane was actually saying.  
"That's true," Haldane said. "So many of our kind go their entire lives unable to master their abilities, to harness them and turn them to a purpose. But I believe that the vast majority could learn to control them, if they had the freedom to explore, if they had a safe place."  
"It's not safe. Testing it isn't safe." Eugene felt anger, clean and bright, cut through him. "There isn't a way to 'explore' that wouldn't put another person at risk. Even an animal, I tried you know, I tried to," he cut himself off, the pain still sharp. He couldn't talk about that. "And now I've got this," and he squeezed the wood of the armrest, felt it give and crack under his hand. "How's a person going to get away from me once I start?"  
"All power originates here, Eugene," Haldane tapped his temple gently. "You may look at your hands and imagine that it's a struggle between your mind and your body, a struggle for control, but that isn't where the fight is actually taking place." Eugene didn't understand, didn't want to understand.  
"Didn't they tell you?" He demanded, standing up. "I know they must have given you some sort of background information on me. They must have told you about him."  
"Yes," Haldane said soberly, giving the words the weight they deserved. "I know what happened to your friend."  
"Then you have to see," Eugene said, desperate. "It's not something to experiment with. It's a curse." Haldane watched him, gentle gaze inscrutable. "Please. I want to be here, I want to be a part of something good. But that, nothing good can come from that."  
"Eugene," Haldane said, tone placating. "You can stay here as long as you like. You can keep those gloves on, I won't ask you to take them off. But if the day comes when you want to try, I'm here." Eugene glared at him, but couldn't convince himself that the man was lying. Haldane wasn't the sort, that had been clear from the very first. He was principled, and more than that, he cared about people. He sat back down. Haldane opened a drawer and pulled out a slim folder. He leaned forward and slid it across the desk to Eugene. "That's the report I received on you, about the incident, and their assessment of your abilities. You can read it, if you like. Like most reports of its type, the lens is skewed. They look at us from a singular viewpoint, balancing the risks against the rewards." Eugene hesitated a moment, then reached out and took the folder.   
"Thank you," he said. He wasn't sure if he really wanted to read it, but he supposed in the long run he could only benefit from being more informed.   
"What I would like, if you feel that you can tell it, is to hear the story of what happened in your own words." Haldane sat back in his seat, waited quietly, giving Eugene space to consider. Eugene looked at the folder in his lap, bent the front corner down, then smoothed it back out. He hadn't ever told the story before, not really, aside from the distraught recountings that spilled haphazardly out of him in the days directly after it happened. Maybe it would help, to try and tell it slowly, to lay the whole thing out clearly. He looked back up at Haldane, nodded. Haldane nodded back, encouraging. "Alright then. Tell me about Sid Phillips."  
A couple hours later, Eugene left Haldane's study, stood listlessly in front of the door after he closed it behind him. He felt emptied out, exhausted. His eyes were burning from a combination of fatigue and emotions. He thought about going back to his room, but knew it would be useless. Instead he went out the front door.   
There was that tree again. Eugene didn't know what it was about it that caught his attention, made him feel so damn lonely. He wasn't alone, he reminded himself. He was in a good place, he was around good people. But beneath that truth was another, impossible to hide from. He would always be alone. Eugene walked up to the tree, peeling his gloves off as he went. He reached out and touched its bark, trailed his fingers along the grooves, almost scale-like in their delineation. He wasn't cut off from all living things, that was something to keep in mind. "You and I, we're some kind of pair," he murmured to the tree.  
Someone chuckled and he turned, saw Snafu leaning against the low banister of the house's side entrance. He was bundled up against the cold in a long trench coat, and was still wearing the same pair of ragged finger-less gloves from earlier in the day. "You got quite the bag of tricks, don't you Sledgehammer. Talking to trees on top of everything else? You're the whole package." Eugene flushed, caught out, stammered a reply.  
"Oh, I can't, I was only," Snafu rolled his eyes and Eugene stopped trying to explain himself. He watched as Snafu pushed off the rails, ambled towards him. He was bizarrely attractive, Eugene realized, surprised. He hadn't noticed before, but it was impossible to ignore now as the man walked slowly up to him; heavy-lidded eyes and full, quirked lips somehow combining together with sharp features and a strong jaw to add up to something arresting. Eugene felt a frisson of excitement move through him, recognized it for what it was. Oh God, no. That was a road to be avoided at all costs. He felt his face warming further and fought against it, took himself back in hand.   
"This a regular thing for you?" Snafu asked. He went on at Eugene's puzzled look. "Talking to shit that can't talk back, saving up your touches for them." Why would he use that phrasing, why was he staring so closely at him?  
"Not going to be touching anything else," Eugene said, hard, a warning. Just in case. He pulled his gloves back on as Snafu joined him under the tree, standing just slightly too close. "Anyways I like them. Trees, flowers. I like identifying them." Snafu didn't answer, fished around in his pocket instead, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He held it out to Eugene, eyes wide and fixed on his face. "I don't smoke."  
His lips turned up, something mocking moving across his expression. "Yeah?" He raised the pack up to his mouth and lipped a cigarette out, lit it with practiced ease, gaze still locked with Eugene's. "Why the fuck not? Can you even get sick?"  
"I don't know," Eugene answered. "Even if I couldn't, that's not reason enough to do a thing." Snafu snorted out a laugh, smoke wreathing his head.  
"That's where you're wrong, Sledgehammer," he said. He still hadn't looked away, not once, it was starting to make Eugene something beyond uncomfortable. "You ask me, there's scarcely ever a good reason not to do a thing you want to do. Won't know 'til you try it, right? No reward without a little risk." His words echoed what Haldane had said earlier, settled wrong on Eugene. He looked away, back to the house. Reading the contents of that folder had been like swallowing rocks, jagged and heavy all through him. He tried to think of something to say, something to steer the conversation in a safer direction. This whole exchange seemed dangerous, he could feel it prickling all along his skin.   
"What's your name?" He asked, turning back towards him. "It's not actually Snafu, is it?" He tried to say it lightly, but Snafu didn't respond in kind, his face settling into a strangely blank expression instead.   
"Merriell Shelton," he said, grudgingly. He took another long pull of his cigarette, blew the smoke out in a stream from the side of his mouth. "No one calls me that though."  
"Why not?" Eugene asked, but Snafu didn't answer. He dropped his cigarette to the ground half-finished, ground down on it with the toe of his boot.  
"Night, Sledge," he drawled, and turned and walked away. Eugene watched him disappear back into the house, feeling a mixture of relief and confusion. He pulled his glove back off and picked up Snafu's discarded cigarette, brought it up to his nose and sniffed it. He had to admit, there was something pleasant about the smell of the tobacco. The unburnt end was just slightly moist from where Snafu had held it with his lips, where he had perhaps pressed his tongue against the tightly packed leaves. Eugene brought it into the house with him, threw it into the trash.  
That first day set the mode for the ones that followed. They rose before the sun, and Haney ran them through drills in the grey light of morning and on until nearly noon. Haldane was usually there as well, although some mornings he spent inside with Florence. Around noon the focus shifted to their abilities, and using them effectively as a unit. Haldane was always present for that portion of the day, and Florence sometimes tagged along.  
It didn't take long for Eugene to suss out that there was something between Burgie and Florence. They didn't talk to each other any more than they did anyone else, in fact, they seemed to talk very little unless it was indirectly, part of a larger group conversation. But Florence had a very unsubtle habit of watching Burgie whenever they were in a room together, and it was fairly obvious that Burgie was watching Florence as well, even with the glasses obscuring his eyes. Eugene couldn't quite figure out what was keeping the two of them back. There was something incomplete between them, something cut off unfinished. Sometimes Florence looked at Burgie and her gray eyes had nothing in them but loss and confusion. Eugene wished he could do something to lift all that away for her, because he and Florence, as she had predicted, had become good friends. They often sat outside together, talked about anything and everything. She told him about Melbourne, he told her about Mobile. They never spoke about Burgie, or Eugene's powers, it was like there was a line drawn from pain that they both recognized and didn't cross, but conversation for the most part was an open field with a wide view.  
They got to be so comfortable with one another that it stopped startling Eugene when Florence's voice would pop up suddenly in his head. It felt like someone slipping their arm companionably through his own, a familiar touch. He didn't really startle when Haldane did the same, but it made him sit up straight, at attention. The respect he held for the man made the idea of an even footed friendship between them ludicrous.  
As a fighting unit, the five of them worked well together. It only took a couple of months for them to fall into an easy rhythm, moving together seamlessly, familiar with one another's strengths and weaknesses. Haldane and Haney had to start getting creative, crafting increasingly subtle scenarios for them to overcome. It meant that the afternoons became and remained Eugene's favorite part of the day, where words dropped away, almost unnecessary, where he became someone who could be relied upon, a person with a purpose.  
In whole, they got along outside of their training as well. Eugene had an easy relationship with Bill and Jay; the three of them would often go out together when they had an evening free, largely an exercise for him in keeping the two of them out of trouble. They had a habit of building off of each other, boasts and declarations becoming increasingly preposterous, until they worked themselves up towards some sort of shocking action, usually illegal. It took a little longer with Burgie, Eugene supposed it was because they were too similar in some ways; they both tended to hold back and watch a situation before acting on it. But they eventually warmed up to each other, and Eugene soon learned that Burgie was one of the good ones, generous and clear sighted, loyal, honest, and unfailingly steady. Really, the only issue was Snafu.  
Issue wasn't even the right word, because they didn't have an issue, just a _thing_ , unaddressed and unresolved. And it would remain unresolved; Eugene reminded himself of that fact often. The _thing_ was, Snafu had a way of moving, both languorous and unpredictable, and Eugene had gotten into the habit of watching him. It was impossible to not note the surprising deftness of his rough, squared off hands, as he sprung a pack of cards between his palms, or rolled a stone along his fingers. He tried not to notice his smell, heated rock and smoke, when Snafu stood too close to him, as he often did. Snafu had a way of sneaking up on him unawares, of appearing at his side when Eugene was least expecting him. It happened often, but it took Eugene close to six months to start suspecting that Snafu was doing it purposefully. It was late spring, and he had received a letter from Mary, painful to read, like so many of her letters were. He had left his room, moved by rote out the door and away, towards the gardens. The estate had a decently large rose garden and it had quickly become one of Eugene's favorite places to retreat to. He sat down on a bench nearly enshrouded by large pink blooms and closed his eyes, breathed in their scent. He felt overwhelmingly homesick.  
He didn't get homesick often. Usually it was a relief to not be there, to be free of his parent's smothering worry and the air of shame that hung over the place, that he was largely responsible for. But today he was missing it. Mary had described what was growing there, had mentioned that the rain was picking up, had said she missed him, missed talking to him. If he was home right now, his mother would be moving back and forth between the dining room and the kitchen, overseeing dinner. If he was home right now, and still normal, he would be coming back in from spending the day out with Sid and she would come up to him and lay her hand along his cheek, warm eyes, soft with love. She always smelled faintly of roses, maybe that was why it hurt so much at the moment, the loss of her touch. Eugene impulsively reached over and snapped a bloom off. He settled it along his cheek, closed his eyes again. It was soft like her skin, it smelled like her. It wasn't even close. It didn't have the warm weight of her hand, the affection that gave the gesture its meaning. He pushed the disappointment down and opened his eyes, frowning in surprise when he saw Snafu, standing just a few feet away and watching him. Eugene dropped the rose to his lap, embarrassed.  
"Don't stop on my account," Snafu said. "Shit, I'm used to it by now, finding you feeling up some plant."  
"Quit it, Snafu," Eugene muttered, unamused, and Snafu walked over and plopped down beside him, too damn close as usual, shoulder and hip brushing up against Eugene's own. Eugene felt it like fire wherever they touched, Christ, it just seemed to get worse with time. He'd told himself at first to just ignore it, that it would pass, any fire would burn out eventually if you didn't feed it, but so far that hadn't happened. But it was being fed, if he was being honest with himself. His helpless imaginings the kindling, the unexpected comfort of Snafu's presence the tinder.   
That was perhaps the most startling thing of all, that Eugene enjoyed Snafu, that Snafu seemed to feel the same way. Snafu wasn't the easiest person to get along with, always watching, waiting for an opening or a show of weakness, ready with a cutting observation or a mocking remark when he found one. Eugene certainly wasn't spared from it, and yet it hadn't taken long for Snafu's mean edge to become familiar, almost appreciated. Snafu reached over and plucked the bloom from Eugene's lap, stroked a thumb along the outer tip of one of its petals.   
"Got a favorite?" He asked.  
"No," Eugene answered. "Not really. Though I prefer wildflowers. I like that they just keep coming, they don't need a human touch to grow on." He realized how telling that statement was immediately after he said it, but Snafu didn't dig into it, thank God. "What about you?" Snafu made a noise in his throat.  
"What do you take me for, Sledge? I seem like the kind of guy to have opinions on flowers?" But he dipped his finger into the tightly clustered petals of the rose's center, entirely engrossed. Eugene watched him, it was an undeniable pleasure, watching him turn transfixed by something. Snafu looked over at him, transferring that compelling gaze. He was smiling a little, but that didn't do anything to ease the electric snap of those hooded eyes. "Suppose I've got a preference for something with a little blush to it, some crimson to its color."  
Eugene had become adept over the past handful of months at stopping his habit of flushing, so he managed to stare steadily back at Snafu, not giving him the satisfaction of a response. The man didn't need any more ammunition to use against him. That was the other _thing_ with Snafu, the way he pulled Eugene along, wouldn't let him go, a fish on the hook. His suggestive words, dropped into an innocent conversation like one of his charged rocks. The way he smirked at Eugene when he caught him staring, the way he murmured low when the two of them talked together, inviting Eugene to lean in close. Sometimes it made Eugene furious, but mostly it just made him weary. He knew it didn't mean anything, couldn't mean anything. Snafu flirted with anything with a curve and a pulse when they happened to go out together, shockingly lewd pickup lines that rarely worked out well for him. But Eugene had seen them work often enough, had watched Snafu disappear out the door with a stranger enough times to know that his words were just that. Talk. It was disconcerting, that he was the only person at the estate that Snafu bothered to tease in that way. But he had come to the conclusion that it was because Snafu knew he was a safe target. Nothing could ever come of it after all, they both knew that.   
"There's lots of different flowers in the world with that range of color," he answered flatly. "Plenty of options to choose from." Snafu snorted and stood up, dropping the bloom back in Eugene's lap.   
"Maybe I'm getting partial to roses," he mused. "Prickly things. Keeps it interesting."   
"Predictable," Eugene said, and Snafu's smile turned a little wicked, his gaze wandering over Eugene.  
"Just the opposite, Sledgehammer," he said, and turned away. He always had to have the last damn word.  
It went on like that, Eugene would be lying if he tried to tell himself that he was growing accustomed to it, but he learned to weather it better. He cut off Snafu's endless attempts to flirt with snapped words or a hasty joke, he refused to let his inclinations towards the man affect his behavior during training. That was the most frightening thought of all, one that Haney had planted in his head one cold fall night.  
He had been standing outside with Snafu and Haney, not talking, enjoying the quiet. It had become something of a habit between the three of them, to sit outside together for a handful of minutes each night and not talk while Haney and Snafu smoked. Eugene didn't partake, but there was something about the ritual of it, something appealing about the smell of the tobacco as it burned. His initial apprehensions about Haney had faded with time and the growing suspicion that the man actually liked them, despite his outward demeanor. Haney still kept largely to himself, but he seemed to enjoy this small bit of socializing.   
Eugene had been stargazing, leaning back against one of the stone pillars that bracketed the doorway, but had eventually let his gaze wander down until it settled on Snafu. He was propped against the same pillar as Eugene, sitting instead of standing, his trench coat wrapped tight around him. His legs were tucked up beneath him and he was smoking slowly, leisurely. All of sensation was a curse, Eugene reflected, when every faculty a person possessed just drew them on and on, towards a precipice they would simply topple from if they ever reached its edge. The smell of smoke, the stillness of the night, the shadowed blur of motion and heat that was Snafu's form beside him, dimly illuminated by the light coming from inside the house. It all worked together to tug on Eugene, weaken him. What would it be, to peel his gloves off, to sink down beside him? If he could, he'd uncover the answer to all those questions he couldn't rid himself of. There was no answer more immediately and clearly given than the ones received through touch. It was a fucking curse. _Merriell_ , he thought, helpless against the want.  
Snafu looked up and Eugene thought for a second that he had spoken his name out loud, but no, he must have just felt the weight of his eyes on him. They stared at each other, Eugene couldn't look away or attempt to hide any of the thoughts and feelings that might be showing themselves on his face. It was Snafu who broke the moment, turning away with a jerk, dropping his cigarette and rising to his feet.   
"Too fucking cold," he muttered, looking down. He slipped into the house and Eugene picked up his cigarette butt and ground it out in the ashtray balanced on the arm of Haney's chair.  
"It's a mistake, what you two are playing at," Haney said, and Eugene froze half bent over and looked at him. He was staring out into the trees. He hadn't sounded angry, just tired. "I'm not talking about your powers," he went on, turning his head. Eugene straightened up slowly, didn't move away. "It's good, to have a bond with the man you're fighting beside. But the both of you have a duty to your unit as a whole. You let it go on, you'll be compromising your ability to think clearly when it gets down to the hard choices."  
"What are you talking about?" Eugene asked, although he already knew.  
"Who would you protect, if it was a choice between him and the rest?" Haney's voice was hard now. "It shouldn't ever be easy, but there's only one right answer, and you and I both know what it should be. Could you make that choice right now?"  
Had he really let himself go that far? Eugene realized with rising horror that he had. It had all progressed past simple attraction some time ago. Jesus Christ, what was he doing? This was never supposed to be about him, the whole point of coming here, of joining this team, was so that he could give himself over to something bigger than himself and his stupid useless regrets.   
"You're right," he said, his voice a croak. He cleared his throat, tried again. "You're right. It's the team, it's all of them." Haney grunted and looked away. "Haney, sir." He waited until Haney looked back at him, looked him in the eye. "I promise. I'd choose the team." His chest was aching, but what was there to mourn? There had never been anything there for him. Haney stared hard at him, then nodded once and turned away again. Eugene walked, dead-limbed, back into the house and up to his room. He undressed and laid himself down in his bed and stared up at the ceiling.   
His thoughts were a mire, and he didn't even know that he wanted to sort through them. He couldn't believe what a fool he'd been. How had he not seen how it was growing? There wasn't anything to do but treat it the same way he did his own skin. Cover it up, keep it that way. He had a duty, to his team, to Haldane and Haney, but most importantly to his best friend, the boy whose life he'd stolen. This was supposed to be his path, Sid's path, but Eugene had torn it away from him. Eugene felt the guilt well up, endless, pulling him down. The only thing to rise up out of it was that same old thought, secret, the one he kept coming back to. If he died, would Sid wake back up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was curious about who their X-Men counterparts are:  
> Snafu = Cajun, a mysterious/troubled past, a flirt, surprisingly funny = Gambit  
> Sledge = southern, a quick temper, feet firmly planted (does that make sense?) = Rogue  
> Bill = short, gruff, tough, can back up all his talk = Wolverine  
> Jay = West Coast, snarky, combination of grit and vulnerability = Jubilee  
> Burgie = a good jawline, a good heart, tense = Cyclops  
> So Florence is obviously Jean Grey and Haldane is Xavier, the soul of the X-Men


	4. Chapter 4

"Things are starting to turn around," Jay said. It was somewhere between a question and a statement. He didn't know himself, just wanted it to be true. Merriell sneered and ignored him.  
"Too early to tell," Burgie said firmly. They were all five out together, a rare occurrence, shoved up around a table at their favorite drinking hole. The barkeep had the radio on and they were listening to a newscast about the progression of the war. "It's good news though, about Stalingrad, and those islands in the Pacific."  
"Fuck," Bill declared, gratingly loud. "It'll all be over before we even get a shot."  
"Ain't nothing going to be over anytime soon, Leyden," Merriell said, not bothering to look away from Eugene's gloved hand, wrapped loosely around his mug. Not that he cared either way. He would go where Haldane asked and that was the end of it. It amused him at times, when he bothered to think of it at all. He would have never imagined it of himself five years ago, when he first showed up at Haldane's door. Loyalty wasn't an idea he put much stock in, back then.  
The tavern was small, but decently busy, which meant they could talk quietly to one another about whatever they wanted with little risk of their conversation being meaningfully overheard by anyone else. They still stuck out a bit, being young, with varying accents, not to mention Burgie's sunglasses and Sledge's gloves and Merriell's not-white-enough skin. But they were something like regulars at this point, and so rarely had to deal with anything more than sideways glances and friendly greetings.  
Bill and Jay were talking about the Germans and their ongoing attack on some Soviet city. Burgie was listening in, although sometimes it was hard to tell with him, Merriell thought he was most likely just watching the four of them, looking over them like a mama hen. Eugene, on the other hand, there was no doubt he was listening intently, to the radio, to everything Bill and Jay were saying. The boy wanted to go fight, more than any of them. It didn't make any damn sense.  
Merriell lifted his eyes from the hand around the cup, looked up at his face. There it was. It made no fucking sense. He always had a grimly determined expression, like he was steeling himself for something. But he could still smile, it just didn't make itself known often. Dark hair that caught and burned under any sort of light, dark eyes that a body had to search closely to find the subtle colors. A soft voice given sparingly, any part of himself given sparingly it seemed. Merriell had thought they were maybe getting somewhere, Eugene had started to look at him in a way that petrified and excited him in equal measure, but then he had suddenly pulled back. He stopped joining Merriell outside when he smoked, he backed away whenever he tried to move in close. Worst of all, he started writing home more often, writing that girl. Mary.  
Who was she? She wasn't his sister, that was what he had tried to tell himself at first, but the address and last name were different from the letters he sent his family. More telling, Eugene never spoke about her. He didn't talk about his life in Mobile often, but Merriell knew at this point that he had a brother, that his father was a doctor, his mother overbearing. It was pretty damn obvious who she was, Merriell just didn't like to admit it. His sweetheart. Some tragically beautiful, soft and sweet-smelling Alabama girl who loved him and vowed to wait on him despite the fact that they couldn't touch. Eugene always ran right up to his room as soon as he got a letter from her, and afterwards he was tightly wound, with a flat mouth and hurting eyes. But something about the situation didn't add up. Nothing about Eugene added up right. The fact that someone so gentle natured could want to go to war so badly, the fact that he could look at Merriell the way he sometimes did and keep writing home to some girl.  
"Gotta smoke," he said abruptly, shoving back in his chair, needing to move, tired of sitting in a goddamn circle around a grimy table, Eugene purposefully settled across its length from him. He pushed outside into the bracing cold, leaned up beside the door. He pulled out a cigarette but didn't light it, staring down at the thing instead. He'd heard from Haney that nearly every soldier smoked, from the top down. Smokes were given out with the food, just part of the daily ration. He was considering trying to kick the habit just to be perverse, but didn't know that he had the willpower for it. He enjoyed the damn things too much.  
The door swung open and Burgie stepped out. He came and stood by Merriell, folded his arms across his chest. "Nearly half the men inside were already smoking, you know."  
"Can't be like them then, can I?" To hell with it. Merriell pulled out his lighter.  
Burgie stood silent and Merriell waited him out, staring at him incuriously while he smoked. "It'll be close quarters, when we ship over," he eventually said. "We won't be able to get away from each other like we can now."  
"You don't say," Merriell drawled. He had a good idea where this was going.  
"It could make things difficult," Burgie said, and left it at that. Merriell cursed the fact, not for the first time, that Burgie's eyes were always covered by those damn glasses. It was like glaring at a colored lampshade.   
"It's fine," he said shortly, tapping ash away from the end of his cigarette. "Won't be a problem."  
"You sure?" Burgie pressed. "We can't afford any slip ups once we get over there. We're gonna have to have our heads screwed on tight." Merriell tried out a mean smile, loaded it up with contempt.  
"Damn Burge, you really think you, of all people, should be trying to hand out this kind of advice? 'Cause I could return the favor. Shit, it's not like you could make it any worse than you already have." Burgie's jaw tightened and Merriell made sure to keep himself loose and nonchalant, just in case he tried to take a swing at him. But then Burgie smiled, a quick, rueful flash, gone as soon as it appeared.  
"Alright," he said, and there was something defenseless in his voice. "Got any advice for me?"  
Fuck, he'd stepped into it now. Like he had any idea at all what to say. Burgie had been gone on Florence from the very beginning. The two of them had been circling each other for going on three years now, and Merriell had watched all of her hopeful curious looks slide slowly away into disillusioned acceptance. Uncomfortable, outmaneuvered, Merriell shifted restlessly and fiddled with the stub of his cigarette. "Hell," he muttered. "I don't know. Treat her like she's normal?"  
"But she's not normal," Burgie said, unsparing. "She can peel me open and see everything. You understand what that means?"  
"She wouldn't," Merriell said. "Not unless you wanted it." Burgie rolled right over that.  
"Is that what you've been trying with Sledge? Just pretend like he's normal? Face the facts, Snafu. Sledge has, or at least he's trying to. The man isn't ever going to have a relationship like that, not with you, not with anyone. He can't."  
Had he really been worried about Burgie hitting him? It was all he could do to keep his fingers from tightening. He should charge the butt of his smoke up and flick it right into Burgie's chest. It took everything he had to speak slow, to sift out the anger and leave only bored disdain. "You're a fucking coward, Burgie." He stared flatly into those red lenses, unblinking, until the hard line of Burgie's lips turned down and Merriell knew he had dropped his gaze. Then he stepped past him, started making his way across the parking lot. Fuck it. He would just walk back.  
Burgie was right, that was what really made him furious. Despite the looks Eugene sometimes gave him, the man had never indicated through word or deed that he wanted anything more from Merriell than what they already had: their strange friendship. He got strikingly angry whenever Merriell flirted with him, it used to please and amuse Merriell, to see him try and hide his surprise, to watch his long lips pull straight and his eyes get steely firm. But these days there was something about Eugene's anger that seemed like it could be shattered, broken. Merriell didn't like that, didn't want that.   
He couldn't really explain, even to himself, why he had started teasing the man in the first place. Merde, but he'd liked the look of him, right from that first moment, when he'd stepped out of the house all neat and pressed, looking like he was off to church. And then later, when Merriell had blasted him right in the face and he flew backwards and _Oh, fuck_ , Merriell had thought, but Eugene had scrabbled back up and lifted his head and pinned Merriell with those dark, deep eyes. He certainly hadn't looked tidy anymore, shirt half torn off, barefoot and dirty, but there was something about him even then, something beyond reach, and Merriell had the distinct thought that one way or another, he was going to get that boy.  
So he'd started messing with him, mostly just to see what might happen, and was it his fault that Eugene had a way of looking right at him, piercing clear, had a way of asking uncomfortable questions with a soft kind of murmur that Merriell could feel all along his skin? Was it his fault that he'd turned out to be damn near perfect, iron-willed and gentle, watchful but with an open expression. Sweet, with a hidden bite to him. And yeah, Merriell was aware that certain things were off the table, hell, nearly all of his favorite things were swept to the damn floor, but over the past year and change that Eugene had been around, the idea had started to creep over him that maybe those things didn't account for much, at the end of the day.   
He felt a press against his mind, the sensation like someone coming up alongside him, and turned into it, let him do what he wanted. A sideways step, miscalculated, a feeling like almost falling, and he was sitting beside Haldane, watching the sun set over the water. It was a great burning ball sunk half away behind the scraggly line of trees, turning their outlines stark black and fantastic. The whole sky as far as he could see was glowing red and gold. Merriell knew Haldane had pulled it from his own mind, that he'd seen it or dreamed it before, but it still felt like something Haldane was giving to him, a gift. He closed his eyes and listened to the chorus of creatures that filled the bayou up with their desperate calls. Each and every one of them crying for a mate.  
"You've already got your answer, Merriell. You've been staring it in the face."  
"Christ, I know, alright?" Merriell leaned back on his hands, stuck his bare feet into the muddy water. "Is that really what this is? Just want to make sure Burgie got the message home?"  
"He was right," Haldane said agreeably. "But he missed the real point. You had it, just a moment ago. It rang out, I heard it."  
"Go on then," Merriell drawled. "Since I already know."  
"Physicality doesn't matter," Haldane said. "Or at least, not nearly as much as people believe it does. What we perceive, what our senses relay to us, they're just the imperfect tools we use to build connections, with the world around us and each other."  
"Connections," Merriell said slowly, trying the word and the idea out. He thought about it a moment, then shook his head. "But it ain't even. He doesn't want that. He's already got it with someone else." Haldane laughed and got comfortable, stretching out on his back and putting his hands behind his head.   
"This is beautiful," he said appreciatively, looking up at the sky. Then, "You have some habits that I'd almost like to try and help you change, except I have to recognize how unique they make you. You throw your whole self into a thing, certain from the start that it will all end badly for you, but determined to do it anyway. Why do you think that is, Merriell?"  
He'd had a terrible obsession with Haldane, in those early days after he first arrived at the estate. Looking back, it wasn't so difficult to understand. He'd been all kinds of fucked up, and Haldane was the answer to all of it. Patient and good-humored, handsome, endlessly kind. Safety and understanding and acceptance. With his abilities, he could have twisted and molded Merriell into whatever shape he wanted him to take. It almost horrified Merriell now, to think of what he would have willingly done or let be done to him, in order to feel something close to comfort. Connection. He didn't answer, and Haldane eventually took pity on him.  
"You've never asked Eugene about her. You never tried to find out what their relationship is." Merriell huffed a breath.  
"What, and show my hand, give it all away?"  
"Don't fight against something you truly want," Haldane said, suddenly stern. Merriell looked down at him, thinking hard.  
"You think Burgie's right, to hold back on Florence?"  
"It's not a matter of being right or wrong. Florence is a powerful empath and telepath. It's not a relationship to be entered into lightly, and Burgin is being careful with his heart." Merriell pressed on.  
"So you think he's right, to be careful?" Haldane looked over at him, smiled small.  
"Who are we talking about right now? Burgin, or you? Or Eugene?"  
"Maybe I'm talking about you," Merriell said daringly, and Haldane frowned. Fucking ha. How many people could say they surprised Andrew Haldane? "You're the most powerful telepath in the world, right? Can read people front and back and all the way through. You ever take a risk, not hold back?"   
"No," Haldane said, and there was something so openly regretful in his face that Merriell instantly felt guilty for asking. "Not in that way. I would though. If I found someone that I knew was right, I would give it all away." His mouth twisted, a little bitter, an expression Merriell had never seen on his face before. "Life's too short to waste a chance like that."  
"So what you're saying is, Burgie's dead wrong," Merriell drawled, and Haldane laughed and sat up, shaking his head.  
"Alright Merriell," he said affectionately. "Come on home," and the sky seemed to rush in on him and Merriell stepped back from it and found himself on the side of the road. It was fucking cold, he instantly missed the wet heat of the bayou. A car was pulling up beside him, Jay hanging out the front passenger window.  
"How much did you even drink?" He said, laughing. "No way you're walking all the way home." Merriell saw Burgie lean forward and around from where he sat behind the wheel, bunched up tight with anger, glasses gleaming darkly.   
"Get in the goddamn car," he grated out. Merriell started to snap back, but Eugene's face peering at him from the back seat stopped him. He climbed in the car without saying a word and Eugene moved over to make room for him and Merriell didn't try to follow after him and get in his space. He leaned against the door and glared at the back of Burgie's head and thought about his conversation with Haldane. The man was always right. He looked over at Eugene, saw that he was watching him with a careful expression.   
"What's wrong?" Eugene asked quietly, like he really wanted to know. Like he would put himself into it, whatever it was. Merriell felt it again, ringing out, just like Haldane had said.   
"Nothing," he answered.

* * *

  
It was just a couple of months later that the word came in. The cold weather had finally broke, although Merriell wouldn't go so far as to call it warm, he still wrapped himself up in his coat whenever he was outside, like he was now. A body had to be willing to spend a decent amount of time out of doors if they wanted to be around Eugene. Right now, he was sitting on the third floor balcony with him and Florence, which was a mistake in his opinion, because the wind was moving strong and brisk, making it nearly impossible to hit Eugene and Florence with the cards he was throwing at them. Merriell had convinced himself that playing cards would make the ideal mid-range ammunition, if he could just perfect the throw. Leyden made fun of the idea, but see if he laughed when Merriell blew one up in his face. Merriell grinned to himself at the thought, flicked another one at Florence. The wind caught it and blew it off course.   
"Are you planning on going down and picking all these failures back up?" She asked, smirking a little. This was far from the first card to be blown out into the lawn.  
"Use that fancy brain of yours," Merriell replied. "You like to show it off anyways." Florence made an unladylike noise but turned away and started scanning the grass below them, the girl made it too easy, and Eugene looked over at Merriell and smiled small and intimate. Merriell felt it like a warmth in his chest. He threw a card at him, bit his lip happily when it hit its mark.  
Things had gotten easier between the two of them. Merriell had quit pushing, and Eugene had relaxed, had lowered his guard a bit. He still held back, and Merriell still hadn't taken Haldane's advice about asking Eugene about his girl, but he couldn't say that he was unhappy with the state of things, all in all. He got to be around him, got to talk to him. Senses were bullshit after all, or something like that, he couldn't remember how Haldane had said it.  
Florence had gathered up all his dropped cards and was handing them back to him with a little flourish, when she frowned suddenly, eyes going distant. "Andy wants all of us in his study," she said abruptly. She looked back and forth between them, expression strangely fixed, and then made her way to the balcony doors. Merriell and Eugene exchanged glances and followed after her.   
They moved quick but were still the last to arrive. They walked in to find Haldane and Haney standing beside the desk, Burgie and Jay in the two seats directly in front of it. Bill was standing to the side, and Eugene moved over to stand beside him. Florence hesitated, then came up beside the chair Burgie was sitting in. Burgie looked up at her, then away again. Merriell tossed himself down in the armchair in the corner of the room, started shuffling the deck of cards he had brought along with him.  
"I'm sure it's fairly obvious what the news is," Haldane said. "They've finally found a company willing to take us on." Training-wise, they had been ready to go for more than six months, but had been held up by goddamn politics. Haney was a marine, and had been working his connections to move the process along, but the whole thing had been dragging on and on. Turned out, folk weren't so keen to have mutants serving openly alongside them. Big fucking surprise. Merriell had started to think it might all fall through before it ever got off the ground, which didn't bother him a bit, Haldane had been strong-armed into it after all, but now it looked like they'd found a chain of idiots idealistic or desperate enough to go along with it.  
"They're sending us out to the Pacific," Haney said. "You'll be joining the 5th Marines, posing as a mortar squad." He went on, trading off with Haldane to explain the timeline, give some details about how it had all shaken out, but Merriell didn't really care about any of that. He looked over at Eugene, saw in his face how impatient he was for it, how ready. That same feeling of wrongness, of something not adding up, came over Merriell. He sat and scarcely listened to the rest of the conversation, then got up when everyone else did and followed Eugene back to his room. Anytime anything remotely interesting happened the boy scurried off to write his Mary, and this was no exception. Eugene glanced over his shoulder and gave him a questioning look when he realized Merriell was following after him, but Merriell just shrugged in reply and Eugene let it go, held his door open when they reached his room and gestured Merriell in. Merriell got comfortable on his bed, stretching his legs out and leaning back against the wall as Eugene closed the door and went over to his desk. He flipped over the paper laying there, hiding his words, then turned around to Merriell.  
"Ever seen a dead body?" Merriell asked, and Eugene frowned, stared hard at him. "Been to a funeral before?"  
"A handful of times," Eugene answered. "Couple of grandparents."  
"Strange, right? How they try and make them look like they've got some color to them still. The hell kind of person puts makeup on a corpse anyway." Eugene was giving him those eyes, piercing and soft, taking him in. "You ever see someone die?" That startled him, he drew back a bit. "Ever see what's left of a person after their head's been blown to bits?" He laughed, short. "Try slapping some makeup on that." Eugene was looking a little horrified and Merriell pressed on. "You ever seen a body after it's been burned alive? They curl in on themselves, did you know that? The knees come up, arms pull in. Won't fit right in a coffin anymore, you just have to bury it as is, that or burn it up some more."  
"Merriell," Eugene said, gentle, and fuck that hurt, why did he have to say it like that?  
"You shouldn't go," he blurted out, desperate and stupid. _Stay here_. "S'not something you should be so damn eager to see." Eugene liked looking at flowers, had a little field book he carried along with him so he could put a name to the things growing around him. Eugene flustered easily and smiled softly and believed in shit, people and ideals. _That_ was who he was. Whoever this person was that he pulled up at times, this person that was so ready to go kill a bunch of strangers, it wasn't really him, it couldn't possibly be him.  
"I've got to go," Eugene said, and Merriell just stared at him. "It's the right thing to do."  
"Says who?" Merriell shot back. "Bunch of fucking humans. They're hunting us down every day, and you think it's the right thing to go kill for them?" Eugene was glaring at him now, Merriell knew he wanted to argue that point, talk about the war and its meaning, about the conflict between humans and mutants, the boy could go on if he got on the right subject. But Merriell wasn't going to let him hide behind that horseshit, not right now. He glared back, didn't let him look away.  
"It's the right thing for me to do," Eugene finally said, after a long, tense silence. Something painful rose up in his eyes, Merriell had barely tracked it before Eugene dropped his gaze, half turned away. Merriell stood up from the bed, took a few steps closer.  
"Eugene," he said, sharp. Eugene turned back to him and Merriell saw it on his face. He really believed it. Jesus Christ.  
Maybe it shouldn't have been such a shock. After all, the man was endlessly strong and durable, with heightened reflexes and a devastating touch. Maybe it wasn't such a stretch of the imagination to see how he might have come to the conclusion that he was only meant for a certain type of living. But didn't it mean anything to him, what Haldane was trying to do here? Could he not see how he fit into that? Did he not see what his being here had come to mean for Merriell, goddamn he hadn't exactly tried to hide it, how could Eugene not see all those roads stretching out in front of him?   
He was reeling a bit, from surprise and anger, bewildered hurt. "You think I'm going to let that happen, any of that happen?" What the fuck was he even saying? Eugene was staring at him like he was crazy. Merriell wanted to grab him, pull him flat against him. But he couldn't do it, couldn't touch or reach him, make him see. "You think that, then you're a goddamn fool." Merriell turned and stalked out of the room, left the door swinging open behind him. Not like he could do anything else.


	5. Chapter 5

It was well into August by the time they joined their regiment in Pavuvu. Merriell went along with the rest of the boys to stand on the deck and get their first look at the island. He took it in, unimpressed. The raggedy tall coconut trees, the makeshift port busy with movement and people. Least it was warm, that was something.   
"Looks like Hawaii," Bill said.  
"No it doesn't," Eugene answered back, incredulous. Thank fucking Jesus they had already been living together for years, or the trip over, with all its stages, its starts and stops, might have seen them even more fed up with each other than they already were. First a long train ride across the length of the country, then a stint at Camp Pendleton where they were officially inducted into the Marines. The folk there had avoided them when they could, watched them from the side of their eyes. It went on like that after they were shipped off, stuck on a boat with a bunch of distrustful soldiers who thought them somewhere between monsters and monkeys. It was more unnerving than Merriell had expected it to be. None of them had ever been in a situation like it before, walking around surrounded by people who knew, knew they were mutants and exactly what they could do.   
At least Haney was with them. Merriell glanced over at where he was leaning against the rail of the ship, a little distance away but close at hand. He was treated with respect and a little awe wherever they went, Burgie said it was on account of him being one of the old breed, having served in the first World War. He kept a hard eye on the five of them, and had an even harder look for any marine who was too openly contemptuous towards them. They had all been surprised, when they gathered outside the house to load up and make their way to the train station, and Haney had walked out with his sea bag slung over his shoulder.  
"You're leaving?" Florence had exclaimed, clearly distressed. She glanced over at Haldane, and then back at Haney. "But you like it here." Haney scowled at her and she scowled back. "Where would you go anyway? You should just stay here with us."   
It was clear that Haney was caught somewhere between pleasure and anger at her words. He grumbled something under his breath, and then said more loudly, "Can't trust these idiots to manage anything over there on their own."  
"What, you mean you're coming with us?" Jay asked. He didn't quite manage to hide the relief in his voice, and Merriell might have mocked him for it if he wasn't feeling something similar. Haney was an old bastard right enough, but one that Merriell had grown used to having around.  
"They'll put me where I ask," Haney said in answer. "I've got no goddamn use for peace and quiet."  
So here they were, the six of them. It was clear from the moment they stepped foot off the ship that they had been expected. The camp was crowded and busy, men at work or at their leisure, most attempting to ignore them as they made their way through. But talk frittered away wherever they went, and they were watched with sneering suspicion or barely disguised fear as they passed by. Merriell watched them back, smiled slow and mean at anyone who dared to look him in the eye. He figured he might as well start making it clear now that they weren't to be trifled with. They were already planning on sleeping in shifts, humans couldn't be trusted.  
Haney didn't bother to acknowledge any of the discomfort that spread out around them as they walked along. Instead he grabbed the first marine to make the mistake of catching his eye, questioning him tersely about where to find K Company and Captain Jones.   
"Won't surprise you boys to find out that they've made sure to keep a tent empty for you. None of them want to sleep near a mutant, even though I'm sure they're already sleeping next to some without knowing it." He didn't bother to lower his voice, didn't bother to raise it. Just stating the facts. He led them past rows of peaked green tents, seemed to know by some kind of instinct exactly where to go.  
"What about you?" Eugene asked. He was walking directly behind Haney, looking around with his typical open expression.   
"I'll be with the other officers." He stopped in front of an empty tent, turned around but didn't really look at them, scanning the immediate area instead. "Keep your fucking guard up, don't do anything stupid."   
"Got it, Gunny," Burgie said, and Haney's lips twitched up and he looked them all over once, quickly, and then turned and walked off.  
The tent was small and cramped, five cots and a couple of rough shelves and surfaces. Merriell saw Eugene eyeing a bunk along one side of the tent, set a little apart from the rest. He waited until he started to move towards it, then tossed himself down on it. It creaked beneath his sudden weight, and he smirked up at Eugene, a challenge. "Taken," he said, daring him to snap something back, hoping for it really, but Eugene just stared at him a moment and turned away, joining Bill at the tent's entrance and looking out at the encampment. Merriell went ahead and got comfortable, settling his head back on his pack and kicking his boots off. Fuck, the heat felt good, like being back home. He half closed his eyes and stared at Eugene's back.  
Eugene had been steering clear of him and that was fine by Merriell. He needed some sort of distance to try and wrap his head around what the fuck was going on with the boy and what there was to be done about it. So far he hadn't managed to figure out a damn thing. Eugene had, not a death wish, but something along those lines. Some kind of wish or hope of no longer being who he was, being someone else. That wasn't going to happen, not while Merriell was around and breathing, but he didn't know what the hell he was going to do to stop it either. So he hung back and watched and Eugene didn't do anything to close the space between them, not that Merriell had really expected him to.  
He'd started to get lost in his own head, tracking that same circle of endless thoughts, when Eugene and Bill both tensed. It wasn't something a body would notice unless they were familiar creatures to one another. Eugene's gloved hands stilled from where they were fiddling with the strap of his pack, and Bill shifted his weight to his back foot as he threw a quick glance behind him into the tent.  
"Captain Jones, Sir," Eugene said, half greeting, half warning to them in the tent. Merriell scrambled to his feet along with Burgie and Jay, stood at attention as a tall man strolled in, looked them over with one quick sweep of his eyes. He was straight backed and whipcord thin, with sharp features and a serious furrow to his brow.   
"At ease," he said, reflexive, not waiting to take in whether or not they were paying him due respect. "Our new mortar squad, isn't that right?" He smiled a little, and then looked them over with a critical eye. "I've read your dossiers, but still need faces to go with the names." His gaze settled on Burgie. "I assume you're Romus Burgin."  
"Yes, Sir," Burgie said, and gave the names of the rest of them. Merriell curled his toes in the dirt and made sure to keep a blank face when Burgie got around to him. Jones was wearing a plain white work shirt, the insignia on his cap the only sign of his rank. He was a southerner if his accent was anything to go by, although Merriell couldn't rightly place it.   
"Welcome to K Company," he said. "The Japs have mutants of their own, no doubting it, but they've been clever. They hold them back for the fullest amount of damage, use 'em in such a way that no one can say for sure what they did. But they don't have anything like the five of you, a team built to work together." He circled slowly as he spoke, so he could look at each of them in turn. "I'm cognizant of the risk you've taken, serving openly like this. I want to make it clear, in my company, you're marines, like all the rest of them. No more, and no goddamn less."  
Fuck. He was idealistic, not desperate. Practical, a straight talker. That was going to make it harder to dislike him.   
"With that in mind," Jones smiled, and then his features dropped into stern lines. "Work detail. Get your boots on, boots. This is the Marines, not a fucking beach holiday. Report to Command Post, I'll have a man and an assignment waiting for you."  
Well there that went. Not so hard after all. They all chorused their 'Yes, Sir's like good little soldiers, and Jones turned and strolled out of the tent as unceremoniously as he had entered.  
"Jesus," Jay said, once Jones was out of earshot. "Way to go, Snafu."  
"What, a body can't take his boots off in his own damn tent around this place?" Merriell griped, dropping back down to his bunk and tugging his boots on.  
"Got us in hot water on the first day," Eugene said, and Merriell turned to lay into him too, but stopped when he saw that he was smiling, eyes warm as he dropped his pack on the last free bunk. His mood lifted, he fought hard to keep his sneer in place.  
An hour later, stripped of his shirt, stinking and covered in oil, he still felt better than he had in a long while. Merde, he was gone on that boy, it was getting to be pretty fucking pathetic. But he still felt like grinning, scarcely noticing the small crowd of onlookers that had gathered around where they were scrubbing drums. Wanted to watch the mutants sweat, he supposed. Anyways, there were better things to look at than a bunch of gawking humans. Eugene had stripped off his gloves and his long-sleeved khaki shirt, was wearing only his white work shirt. Merriell watched him out of the corner of his eye, took in his long pale arms, the lines of his body that the thin, sweat-soaked fabric of his shirt only served to highlight. The boy kept himself so covered up, it was a real treat to get an eyeful of him all exposed. And how pitiful was that, that seeing Eugene's fucking arms was enough to get him worked up?  
"Why don't you grab a brush?" Merriell looked over to see Bill toss a drum back upright, glaring hard at a couple of marines watching him work. "Give us a hand?" They muttered something and moved off.  
"Bill," Burgie said, cautionary. Bill grunted and got back to scrubbing, scowling down at the drum.  
"Settle in, Leyden," Merriell drawled. "We're what passes for entertainment 'round here." The heat was turning the back of Eugene's neck all pink. He didn't look up or stop working, just kept at it, grimly determined.  
"There's going to be trouble," Jay murmured, low enough so only the four of them could hear him. His eyes flicked up at the watching men, then back down.  
"I know," Burgie answered, speaking low as well. "That's why we have to keep our traps shut. Can't give them anything to use as an excuse for when it happens." Even through his glasses, Merriell knew he was giving him and Bill significant looks.   
"Gotcha, Corporal," Merriell said mockingly, and Bill huffed and they got back to work, caught on a moving line somewhere between nervous and grimly amused with their situation.  
Late that night, Merriell woke up to the sound of Burgie and Leyden muttering quietly to each other at the entrance to their tent.  
"They're moving in now," Bill said. "Still about fifty feet out, coming in on your right." He had preternaturally sharp senses, could see, hear and smell better than any human. "Should be in your line of sight soon." Merriell sat up, moving slow and quiet, leaned to look out the tent entrance.  
"I see them," Burgie said, and then a red beam shot out, drilled into the ground. By its dim glow Merriell could just make out a set of feet, jumping hastily back.  
"Holy fuck," someone exclaimed, out in the dark.  
"Watcha shooting at, Burgin?" Bill asked, loud and obnoxious. Merriell grinned. He heard movement; Eugene and Jay sitting up, listening.  
"Some kind of varmint, Bill," Burgie answered back, not as loud, but his voice still carrying. "Came wandering around too close to our tent."  
"Not like you to miss."  
"Next time I won't." Burgie turned his head, just a shadowy outline and a gleam of red in the darkness. "Go back to sleep," he said quietly. "We'll wake you up when it's time."  
Merriell exchanged a look with what he could make out of Jay and Eugene in the gloom, lay back on his bunk.  
"How's that for some fucking entertainment," Bill said, voice hushed but grimly satisfied. Jay snorted on a laugh, and that got Merriell going, and soon enough they were all five of them snickering, trying to smother the sounds, trying to stay sharp. It was the opposite of funny, of course, that they'd had to scare off some harebrained attempt at an attack from their supposed allies. But what was there to be done but find a little humor in it, a little comfort in each other? It was good, to know he was still safe, like he had never been before in his life until he found Haldane, found these boys. He fell asleep easily, and when Burgie woke him up a couple of hours later he sat with Jay at the entrance to their tent and played cards in near silence until the sun came up.  
Nearly a week went by before Haney came around to collect them, bringing them to a cleared field to demonstrate their abilities for Captain Jones. There was a decent crowd of observing officers; the colonel and lieutenant colonel and their staff. Their presence made Jay and Eugene nervous, but Merriell wasn't bothered by them. He ignored them, focused on Haney and his habitual harsh voice, his cursory coarseness. He put them through their paces the same way he had back on the estate, first individually and then as a group. It felt good to move in tandem with the four of them again, familiar shortened words and easily understood gestures. Haney didn't have them do anything too difficult, it was just a little show to impress the higher ups, after all. They stood to the side and watched with hard eyes, only spoke to each other. It didn't matter, Merriell knew they were pleased with what they saw. Maybe is was just hopeful wishing, but it seemed to him that Jones watched them with a different quality than the rest, like he was seeing people and not odds.  
Afterwards, he lounged on his bunk and threw cards at Jay. He was getting pretty fucking good at it, if he did say so himself. No doubt he was annoying the man, even though Jay did a good job of keeping it off his face, resolutely flipping through the tattered magazine he had picked up from somewhere, leaning up against the board that framed the door of their tent. Leyden and Sledge had gone to the latrine, none of them went anywhere alone, even though they were more than a match for anyone who might try and make trouble. It just wasn't worth the risk. Burgie was writing a letter, and Merriell switched his attention to him. Jay was being boring.  
"You writing to Flo?" He asked, his voice openly teasing. Things had changed real quick between Burgie and Florence once word came that they were being shipped out. Burgie had stopped being a fucking idiot, had been caught on more than one occasion sneaking out of his room at night. Florence started walking around with a big dopey grin all the time, eyes all lit up and shining. At the train station, waiting to board, the two of them had clung tightly to each other, and it was clear from the way they were staring fixedly at one another and not talking that they were having some sort of private conversation in each other's minds. Haldane had looked downright uncomfortable. Now Burgie grinned, a rare thing for him, he was usually so damn tight featured no matter his mood.  
"Yeah," he said, sounding almost bashful. "I meant to write her as soon as I got here. It's funny, we're mostly doing a whole lot of nothing, but time's passing faster than it seems it should. Haney says it'll most likely only be a few more days before they ship us out. Peleliu."  
Merriell grunted. He didn't want to think about it, to be honest. He wasn't looking forward to combat, didn't think any of them were, not even Eugene, underneath it all.  
"Who the hell are they talking to?" Jay muttered, eyes suddenly hard, and Merriell and Burgie got up and joined him at the door of the tent. Sure enough, Leyden and Sledge were standing about thirty feet away talking to some marine. Or rather, Bill was standing tense and uncomfortable, watching the area around them while the man spoke with Eugene. He looked vaguely familiar, one of the soldiers who had been hanging around and watching them more often than not. He was handsome, if you liked a boy with a strong jaw and full lips, goddamn fucking dimples. He and Eugene were staring intently at each other as they spoke. Merriell felt himself scowling.   
They spoke for a couple of minutes more, and then Sledge and Leyden turned away and made for the tent and the marine stared after them a moment, then turned and walked the other way. Merriell and Burgie drew back inside and Jay moved to let the other two past him, then settled back in the doorway, keeping an eye out.   
"What was that?" Burgie asked. Merriell sprung the deck between his hands and tried to act like he didn't care. Eugene and Bill looked uneasily at each other.  
"His name's Robert Oswalt," Eugene said, voice pitched low. "A 60 mortar man, same platoon as us. He's a mutant."  
"He came up to Eugene while I was shitting," Bill said. "We didn't know what the hell he was trying to tell us at first, he was talking around it so much."  
"What's he want?" Burgie asked. "We can't help him, if that's what he's thinking."  
"Why not?" Eugene asked, frowning. He went on before Burgie could answer. "That's not what he wanted. He was asking us about Haldane. I think he's looking for a place to go, after."  
"Could be a trick," Merriell said. Eugene transferred his frown to him. "Can't trust nobody out here. He show you any proof that he's a mutant?"  
"No," Bill said. "But what's he gonna do, here in the middle of camp?"  
"Even if he is, that doesn't mean we can trust him just like that," Jay said, still watching out the door.  
"Did you tell him anything?" Burgie asked, hard voiced.   
"We said Haldane was a good man, the best," Eugene answered. "I told him I'd try to talk to him more, if I got the chance."  
"That ain't happening," Merriell said. "Not alone, at least."  
"Out of the five of us, I'm the safest bet for going alone at something," Eugene pointed out.   
"No, I agree with Snafu," Burgie said. "None of us does anything alone, that's all there is to it." He shook his head. "We'll sit on it for now, keep an eye on him. See how it all shakes out." Eugene's lips settled in a tight line, but he nodded and sat down on his bunk.  
Later, Burgie, Jay and Bill went off for chow, and Merriell moved to the entrance of the tent, pretending to keep a look out but mostly watching Eugene. He had taken off his boots but left his socks, had stripped off his gloves and was folded up on his bunk, writing a letter. Merriell dared himself to speak, take Haldane's advice. The man had never steered him wrong before.  
"Writing your girl?" He asked, overly loud. Eugene looked over at him, frowning.  
"What do you," he said, and then he stopped. Something in his eyes changed, and he stared hard at Merriell, like he was thinking carefully over what to say. "She's not my girl," he said finally, almost reluctantly.  
"Shit, Sledgehammer. You been writing the lady for nearly two years now, and you still haven't locked her down?" Eugene's lips pulled down, a little amused, mostly pained.  
"It's not like that," he said quietly, not looking away. "She's. Well, she's my best friend's girl, really." Merriell blinked, tried to take that in. What best friend? Eugene hadn't ever mentioned anyone else from Mobile aside from his family.  
"What is this, some dime novel for bored housewives?" He drawled. "You telling me this whole time you've been writing someone else's girl on the sly?"   
"No," Eugene said, suddenly angry. "You think I'd do that? I would never do that to Sid, not even if I." He broke off, started back up. "I'm writing her for him," he said, one quick rush of words. He looked away, mouth pulled tight with distress and emotion. His bare hands were clenched white on his own knees.  
"I don't get it," Merriell said after a long moment. Eugene shook his head unhappily, face still turned away. Merriell hesitated, then got up, casting one last glance outside. It was near dark now, the world outside their tent turning shades of gray, inside lit up by their one kerosene lamp. It caught in Eugene's hair, turned it all to fire. Merriell eased himself slowly onto the bunk nearest Eugene, shifted restlessly back and forth. "Tell me," he said, when Eugene finally turned and looked at him. The following silence was long, tense, but eventually Eugene spoke, that soft murmur of his making it all incredibly intimate, making Merriell lean in.  
"We grew up together, Sid and I," Eugene said. "And it was always him and Mary, from as far back as I can remember. He was always saying that he was going to marry her some day." His lips pulled back into a smile. "It was bound to happen, everyone knew it. They were a bit like Burgie and Flo, you know what I mean?" Merriell nodded, eyes fixed on him. "But Sid had big plans, for himself, for his future. He wanted to wait to get married and Mary didn't. They started to," he lifted his hands, made a sharp gesture, "fracture, fall apart. I tried to convince Sid to be more understanding, tried to convince Mary that they had plenty of time, but it turned out that they didn't. After I. After Sid." His breath started to hitch, he stopped, squeezed his eyes shut. Merriell moved forward, pressed their knees together. Eugene opened his eyes. "After, I got in the habit of talking to Mary about him. I wanted her to know how much he loved her, how she was his whole world, even though he didn't tell it to her like he should of. When I left I promised her I'd write, that we'd keep talking about him, not let him slip away." He shook his head, looked down. "Lately I've been thinking that I'm not doing her any favors. Maybe I should be trying to get her to move on, live her life."  
"It ain't easy," Merriell said eventually. He paused, unsure if he should continue, pushed on. "But dead's dead. You'll both have to move forward from it, can't live there."  
"He's not dead," Eugene said fiercely. "He just won't fucking wake up. And it's my fault." His face twisted, fell apart, he pulled away and curled in on himself. There was something about the way Eugene carried himself that made him seem taller than he was, but that was gone now. He hadn't ever looked so small to Merriell as he did in that moment. "I'm sorry," he said, lifting his head, eyes damp. "I'm talking in bits and pieces, how the hell are you supposed to know?" He straightened back up, took a couple deep breaths. "I didn't expect it, when my abilities manifested. I never even suspected that I might be a mutant until the day they showed up. Sid was prepared for it, it runs in his family. It was all kept quiet, but I knew, and so did Mary. They developed pretty early for him, he was thirteen or so when it happened. All of a sudden he was strong, indescribably strong, and nothing seemed to hurt him anymore. It was like he was indestructible. Sound familiar?" He looked at Merriell, nothing but bitterness. Merriell nodded slowly. "We were messing around when it happened, out of the blue, or that's what it felt like. We were wrestling, Sid was bound and determined to teach me how to fend for myself. He was so strong, but he kept it in check. It never felt like he was using that against me when we tussled. All of a sudden, it was like," he shook his head, "like he was falling into me. I could feel his incredible strength, all somehow contained inside his body. My body. I knew his thoughts, his memories, everything he'd ever known or felt, I knew. I still know it." His hands were turned up in his lap, he was staring down at them like they were familiar horrors. "I clung on to him, I didn't think, didn't realize what was happening or what it meant until he collapsed. Can you imagine what it would take, to make someone like him, like what I am now, collapse?" He looked back up at Merriell, searched his face. "That all happened over four years ago. He's been in some sort of coma ever since."  
"You ever," Merriell stopped, cleared his throat. "You ever try again, after that? To touch something, someone?"  
"Once," Eugene answered shortly. "I thought, maybe. But it was a mistake." He didn't elaborate. Merriell sat silently, trying to think of what to say. "It's why I'm here," Eugene said, surprising him. "Sid wanted to enlist, wanted to be useful. Seemed like one of the only things I could do, you know?"  
Jesus fucking Christ. Merriell was so lost, so in over his head, he didn't even know where to begin to sort it all out. All the pieces were falling into place, but he didn't have the head space to make sense of the whole picture. Eugene was watching him with a sort of expectant dread, like he was so damn sure that something was settled now, that Merriell would get up and move to the other side of the room. He reached out instead, curved his hand slowly and carefully around Eugene's knee. He left it there, gripped it firmly, held his gaze. Eugene stopped breathing, surprise and something Merriell couldn't put a name to moving across his expression. He dropped his eyes, looked down at Merriell's hand. Hesitant, fingers visibly trembling, he moved his hand, settled it along Merriell's forearm where his skin was covered by his sleeved shirt. His touch was light, but Merriell could feel each individual finger and the palm of his hand like a brand. He breathed in deep, took in the quiet, the warmth of their shared touches. God, these imperfect tools. This connection.   
They sat like that, not speaking, for a long moment. By the time the others returned, Merriell was back at his spot by the door and Eugene had returned to his letter, and a body would think that nothing had changed at all. But the whole damn world had shifted, turned them in towards each other.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed the rating to M due to an overabundance of caution

It wasn't long afterwards that they were standing on a ship, getting ready to load up onto an amtrac. Merriell felt all bogged down by his gear and his pack. It was fucking irritating, having to carry all this extra shit just for show. And it was unnerving to be packed in so close with a bunch of humans. Jones was talking, reminding them to get the hell off the beach, like anyone would have to tell Merriell twice. He watched as Eugene helped Bill with his pack, watched as he shook Jones' hand as they moved up towards the amtrac. He stood in place behind Burgie and beside Sledge, then pulled his pack out, held it out to Eugene with a raised brow. Eugene's lips pulled back in a smile.  
"You know I don't smoke."  
"Now or never," Merriell murmured back. Eugene just shook his head, and then the doors started to open, the ramp sliding down. Merriell had an overwhelming urge to wrap his arm around Eugene's waist. Instead he vomited, turning his head to the side to avoid Eugene's boots. Hell, now he really needed a smoke. He lit it and managed one quick inhale and then Jones' voice was ringing out.  
"Here we go, boys," he shouted, and the amtrac lurched forward. They all bent down a bit, bracing themselves, and Eugene put a steadying hand on Merriell's shoulder. Merriell smirked at him and took a long pull of his cigarette.  
The little glimpses Merriell got of the horror they were making their way towards were riveting, appalling. He stayed crouched down where he was and didn't bother to look up any more than he needed to in order to keep a sharp eye on his boys. Sledge and Leyden hung on to the side of the amtrac for a clearer look, the idiots, but then, if anyone could do something like that without worrying overmuch about the consequences, it was the two of them. The sounds of the bombardment were more than enough for Merriell, the roar of the planes passing overhead, the way the amtrac rocked in the water whenever something landed too close. Merriell felt his heart rate ticking up, up. Goddamn humans, what the hell did they need mutants for, when they could create this kind of destruction all on their own? And yet, Merriell had never felt like he had more in common with humans than he did now, glancing around at all their stiff, terrified faces. The machine guns started up and Jones yelled for them to load and lock and Merriell obeyed mechanically. They were coming up on the beach.  
The amtrac came to shore with a series of rocking lurches and then Jones and Haney were shouting for them to move. Merriell got a little blank at that point. People fucking dying all around him, it seemed like there were more bodies lying still than there were moving. He heard someone crying out for help. _Help your fucking self_ , he thought viciously, and crawled after Sledge and Leyden. He checked to the side and behind him; Jay and Burgie were still there, keeping close. He gritted his teeth and grabbed on to some hateful feeling inside him and just kept moving, trying not to think about the whistle of bullets all around him, the way the earth was shuddering. They got past the open sand and into the beginning of some sort of cover, and then they were running, following after Sledge and Leyden, letting them take the heat. They leapt together into a shitty little trench, pressed their backs against the side of it along with the rest of them.   
They checked in with each other, quick. Jay was staring back the way they had come, pupils blown wide, eyes huge with shock. Merriell grabbed him by the back of the neck, gave him a hard shake, and Jay turned and stared at him, nodded jerkily. Burgie was steady as always. He was bent over Leyden, digging around at a patch of red on his shoulder. Bill cursed and pushed him off.  
"Forget it, it's already closed over," he said. "I'll get it out later." Merriell turned to Eugene, looked him over. There were a couple holes in his shirt, easy to see. Bullet holes.  
He latched on to Eugene's elbow, grip hard and desperate, and, "I'm fine, Snafu, you know I'm fine," Eugene said, and then Jones was yelling at them to move, get out of the hole.   
Merriell had never been more thankful for Haney than he was then, hunkered down in the remains of a coconut grove, watching him move cool-eyed and focused, guiding them on. Soon enough they'd cleared the grove, making for the edge of the airfield, and Jones was gesturing for them to get down. Merriell looked out at the blackened and shelled out remains of buildings, watched with rising dread as several moving shapes rounded the side of the largest one, soldiers crowded close around something else, large and lumbering.   
"Son of a bitch, those are Jap tanks," he said, and then Jones was yelling for mortars and Merriell realized he meant them.  
"You heard him, let's go, move out," Burgie shouted, and they ran forward under increasing bullet fire. There wasn't a spot that Merriell could pick out that he would bother to call cover, but Burgie steered them to a little dip in the ground partially obscured by some scrub and shouted for them to hold. They hastily assembled the mortar and hunkered down around it like they had some sort of idea how to actually use the fucking thing. Years of moving together took over then, Eugene and Bill crouching in front, guns raised, firing smart and careful, Burgie in the back directing them. "Trade off on shots. Snafu, take out that goddamn tank."  
Jay fired first, and Merriell pulled out a rock and charged it, tapping everything sleeping inside it and twisting, waking it up. Jay's blast hit dead center in the group of soldiers following after the tank, throwing bodies aside like rag dolls, and Merriell gave it another moment and then half stood and lobbed the rock. It hit the side of the tank, rocked it a bit but didn't stop it. They went again, Jay sending more soldiers to the dirt and Merriell trying for the tank, but it moved unpredictably, faster than he'd expected it to be, and the rock hit the ground beside it.  
Bill fired and the Jap riding on the back of the tank fell backwards off the side. "The engine block, Snafu, aim for the fucking engine block," he yelled over his shoulder as Jay finished off the last of the soldiers with his third hit.  
"The fuck you think I'm aiming for?" Merriell bit out, pulling out another rock. He charged it up as the tank drew closer, as it leveled the turrets of both guns directly at them. "Oh, shit." He stood up and threw it, even as shouts to fall back started up behind him. It hit perfectly, thank fucking Christ, and there was a burst of flame and then the entire tank disappeared from view in a cloud of black smoke. Burgie shouted for Jay to take out the soldiers on the roof as Merriell dropped back down, heart rabbiting away in his chest.   
It didn't start to slow until much later, as he settled back on an outcropping of coral rock and lit a smoke, watched Eugene sit down across from him and tug his boots off. The gloves came off next, quickly replaced by a dry pair pulled from his pocket. Eugene stretched his feet out in front of him, frowning down at them in distaste. "My feet are soaking wet," he said idly. Merriell snorted but didn't say anything. After all, Eugene could run around the island stark naked and it wouldn't make any difference. Now that would be a sight.  
His fantasizing was disrupted in nearly the worse way possible, by Robert Oswalt coming up and dropping down beside Eugene. He looked at Merriell, smile all amiable. "That was amazing, you taking that tank out like that." Merriell made a noise in his throat and stared at him. _Get the fuck outta here._ There was an awkward silence, and then Oswalt looked nervously away, struck up a conversation with Eugene. He had been following after them the entire boat ride over from Pavuvu, trying to get friendly, and Merriell was tired of seeing his goddamn face. The other boys liked him well enough, but were still cautious of him. Eugene was the only one who really bothered being polite back to the man. Merriell knew it didn't mean anything, that was just Eugene, but he still didn't like it. He flicked the stub of his smoke away and then leaned over to dig around in his pack, pulling out two canned rations and tossing one to Sledge. He pulled out his knife and started working it through the tin lid with practiced ease, staring fixedly at Oswalt all the while. The boy would make himself scarce if he kept at it long enough with the hard looks. He had been fairly easy to run off so far.   
Jones came up to them, moving purposeful quick, distracting Merriell. He crouched down beside them, looked them over. "You boys got enough ammo?"  
"Sure thing, Skipper," Merriell answered, and listened as Jones described the perimeter and gave them basic orders. He moved on as soon as he said what he needed to, and Merriell decided that the man was growing on him. He looked back at Eugene, saw that he was still struggling with his canned ration. It made him chuckle a bit, shake his head. The boy could pull the whole tin apart with one finger, but he still sat there and tried to open it the right way. He leaned forward, plucked the ration from Eugene's hand and slapped his open one down in its place. "Trade you," he said, and Eugene smiled, all lopsided and sweet, and Merriell had to focus his attention on his new ration to keep from grinning back. Couldn't go giving Oswalt any ideas, after all.  
They sat in silence for a bit, and then Oswalt said, "Look at that guy. My God, what's he doing?" His voice was pitched low, he was staring in disgust at something over Merriell's shoulder. Merriell turned and looked. A marine was crouched over the body of a dead Nip; he had his knife out and was using it to saw away at something inside the corpse's mouth. They watched him go at it, leaning his weight in to help along his grisly work, until something in the Jap's mouth gave with a crunch, and the man reached in and pulled something out.   
"Gold tooth, must of been," Merriell said, watching the marine walk off. It made his stomach tighten unpleasantly, but then he supposed it was a danger they all faced, losing yourself in all the madness. It could have easily been him, if he was alone out here instead of with four of the best boys in the world.  
"It's revolting, seeing a marine act that way," Oswalt said, and Merriell rolled his eyes, turned his attention back to his food.  
"Shut the fuck up," he said, not bothering to look at him. Oswalt got the fucking hint at that point and cleared off, and Eugene sighed and kicked lightly at Merriell with his stocking foot. Merriell just smirked and shrugged a shoulder in reply.  
Later that night he sat beside Eugene and looked out at the burning remains of buildings and machinery. Eugene had a look in his eyes, sorrowful and confused, like he couldn't understand what he was seeing, had seen. Merde, it hurt to see that expression but Merriell knew he'd do just about anything to make sure he kept it, stayed horrified by everything he saw while they were out here. Stayed himself. He pressed their shoulders together, looked over at where the other three boys were sleeping near a watchful, muttering Haney.  
"You're incredibly rude," Eugene said. "To Oswalt."  
"Don't trust him," Merriell replied. "He's lying, about being a mutant."  
"How could you possibly know that?" Eugene asked incredulously.  
"Just do," Merriell said stubbornly. He mulled it over, tried to pick out what it was. "Earlier, with the tooth. He said it was wrong, for a marine to act the way he did." Eugene tipped his head, waited for him to continue. "He wouldn't have said it that way, if he was a mutant. Would of said something about how horrible humans were, something like that." Eugene hummed thoughtfully and Merriell slid down from his sitting position, rolled over on to his side. "Wake me up in a couple hours," he said, pressing his back up against Eugene's leg.  
He woke with a start the next morning, when a bomb went off nearby and made the ground rumble, sat up, confused and disoriented. Eugene was sitting in the same spot, writing something in the little bible he had brought along with him. He purposefully didn't look up; he'd let Merriell sleep all night. Merriell scowled, looked around at the soldiers hurrying about or sitting grim-eyed in their places. Stray shots were being exchanged already, the fighting slowly picking up. His mouth was dry, they'd run out of water yesterday, and it was already hot as fuck. He stared hard-eyed at Eugene as he lit a smoke, transferred the surly expression to the other three as they came and settled in beside them. "How's the shoulder?" He asked Bill.  
"Wasn't any fucking fun digging the damn thing out, but I'm fine," Bill said. "Been trying to hunt up some water. No luck."  
"Fat chance anyone would bother to share with us anyways," Jay said. "We'd be the last to know." Even as he said it, Oswalt came running up. Merriell groaned inwardly, started to say something to get the boy to keep moving, but then he spoke.  
"Water. Somebody found water." He looked back and forth between them, started backing up the way he'd come. "I swear, they've found some water." They all jumped up at that, disbelieving but desperate, and followed after Oswalt, back into the deeper cover of the coconut grove. Sure enough, a bunch of marines were gathered around a hole in the ground, filling their canteens with water. They didn't speak to the five of them when they came up, but shifted to make space, and when Eugene took off his helmet and held it out one of the boys took it and filled it up for him, handed it back to him without hesitating.  
"Don't drink it," Bill said, sudden and sharp, making them all turn and look at him. "Nobody fucking drink it. It's poisoned."  
"The fuck you know that?" One of them asked.   
"I can smell it," Bill answered grimly, pushing forward and thrusting his hand down into the water. He fished around for a second, then pulled up a large skull, some kind of goat, big horns, soft brains falling in a rush out the side of it, a dark swirl of red blooming out around it. A couple of the boys cried out in disgust and Bill tossed the skull to the side of the hole. One of them reached out, clapped Bill on the shoulder.  
"Listen up, weapons." Haney's gruff shout had them all turning. "C.O.'s got our orders." Merriell stood along with the rest of them and listened to Jones describe how they were going to run across the airfield like a pack of fools and get blown all to shit, then trudged back through the trees to start putting up the gear. Oswalt followed after them, crouched down beside them.  
"Should be sending us over first," Bill said. He was squatting by Eugene, looking out towards the airfield. "It'll all be over by the time we cross."  
"Don't be idiotic, Bill," Burgie said.  
"Anybody got any asswipe?" Jay asked.  
"No asswipe, no chow, no water, so don't even think about it," Merriell said, trying to convince himself. He looked over at Oswalt, leaned in too close, causing him to blink rapidly and pull back. "A nice cold sip of water? A little splash on your head? Put it right out of your mind."  
Oswalt stared at him, frowning in discomfort, then said, "I've got a little water." He pulled out his canteen, turned to Eugene, held it out. Eugene stared at him, dark eyes searching his face in a way that made Merriell tight and angry, then reached out and took the canteen. He held it in his hands for a moment, thinking, then shook his head.  
"No. I can't. I don't need it in the same way." He looked over at Bill, shook the canteen questioningly. Bill grimaced.  
"Same. I can hold off. They'll need it more than us." Oswalt looked back and forth between them with a confused expression, and Eugene held the canteen out to Merriell.  
He didn't want to take it. Didn't want to drink any when Sledge and Leyden were turning it down, didn't want to accept anything from Robert too-good-to-be-true Oswalt. He was so fucking thirsty. He stared at it, tense and undecided. "Snafu." Eugene's voice was firm. "Take it." Merriell reached out, opened it, tipped his head back and closed his eyes as he drank. He only took a sip, he was too afraid to give himself a real mouthful, afraid he wouldn't be able to stop once he got a good taste. He passed the canteen off to Jay as quickly as he could and glared over at Eugene, frustrated for a whole pile of stupid reasons. Eugene stared steadily back at him, warm and level.   
Jay passed the water on to Burgie, and Burgie stood up to return it to Oswalt. "Thank you," he said, voice soft and sincere in a way he rarely let it get.  
"Get off your ass." They all looked up as Haney came by. He barely spared them a glance, eyes sweeping down along the line. "Get under that gear. We're moving shortly." Oswalt got up, returning to his squad, and they watched him go as they readied up.  
"The guy's alright," Jay said, and nobody disagreed with him, not even Merriell. Planes passed overhead, flying in formation, and they watched them sweep over the airfield. Merriell felt Eugene looking at him, turned his head.   
There was something in that dark, penetrating gaze of his that Merriell couldn't quite put a name to. Not outright fear, but some sort of misgiving, unease. Merriell looked down at the half-forgotten smoke he was holding in his hand. He took a quick pull off of it, then leaned in close, held it out to Eugene. "Last chance, Sledgehammer," he said, low and quiet. Eugene's eyes changed again, something in them sharpening, settling. He reached out and took the cigarette, kept his eyes on Merriell as he inhaled.  
If he was going to die, Merriell supposed it was a pretty good image to go out on, Eugene looking at him, only him, his lips pressed down around the same cigarette Merriell had just held in his own mouth. Merriell looked away, forced himself to refocus before he went and did something dangerously dumb, like trying to kiss him. He'd barely managed to get his head back where it should be before they were being told to move.   
It was awful, indescribable. Merriell didn't really know how he was doing it, how any of them were doing it, pushing forward across that open wasteland while the Japs poured fire down on them, bodies tossed aside and torn apart like loose bits of nothing. He couldn't hear, could barely see through the flying dirt and constant artillery strikes, just kept his eyes fixed on Leyden and Sledge's backs and kept moving. They came up against the cement remains of a building, started checking in, when, "Sniper, behind us," Bill suddenly barked out. Merriell ducked instinctively as he spun around, saw the hidden pillbox right before the sniper fired.   
Jones shot back, still standing, face a fierce rictus. "Snafu," Burgie shouted, but Merriell already had the rock out and charged. He tossed it low with a practiced snap of his wrist and the metal of the pillbox bowed out from the force of the explosion.  
"Let's go, move, move," Jones yelled and they were running again, the earth erupting in plumes of black smoke all around them, ducking here and there behind blasted out bits of machinery. A marine fell and Leyden reached down and hauled him back up, dragged him along until the man found his feet again. He and Eugene were about the only ones who could afford stupid shit like that, Merriell thought, and then the artillery hit beside him, tossed him into the air.  
He'd felt it right before it hit, the force of it plunging down through the air towards him, had barely started to tighten his muscles to leap away when it slammed into the earth. He managed to regain some control before he hit the ground, twisting the bits inside himself into the type of motion he wanted, rolling so that he landed on his knees and elbows instead of his back. He'd fallen behind the metal hull of what must have been a tank. His ears were ringing, his vision blurry, he shook his head to try and clear it and then someone grabbed him roughly by the shoulders and flipped him around. Oswalt. Merriell started to lift a hand, he was still too damn stunned to get to his feet without help, but Oswalt batted it aside, pinned him down with his knees and the weight of his body, wrapped his hands tight around his neck. "You fucking freak, say something smart now," He spat out.  
Shock bolted through him, hate surging up after it. Merriell made a fist, hit him clumsily on the side of his face. Oswalt pitched to the side a bit, but clung on, righted himself. His body still wasn't working like it should, fuck he was going to die, murdered by a human ally in the middle of a battle. He tried to writhe free, heart beating with the force of a rapping fist against his chest, tried to gouge his eyes, lungs burning, everything burning, then stopped struggling. He glared up into Oswalt's eyes, grabbing on to the side of his helmet with both hands and reaching for everything sleeping inside of it. It would kill him too, but that didn't matter at this point. He twisted, woke them up.  
Gloved fingers suddenly appeared around Oswalt's throat, squeezed. His neck gave with a soft crunch; Merriell stared into eyes gone wide with surprise, and then Eugene ripped his body away and tossed it to the side. He threw himself on top of Merriell, tucked his head in under his chest, Merriell was so rattled he didn't even understand why until he felt the shudder of an explosion nearby. The helmet that he'd charged. Eugene pulled back, cupped his face with shaking hands. "My God, Snafu," he said, voice trembling. Merriell heaved for breath and pushed against him weakly and Eugene snapped out of it, standing and hauling Merriell up after him. He tucked Merriell in against his side and near carried him, on across the rest of the open field, dumping him down beside the others where they were digging in to assault the airfield base.   
"What the fuck happened?" Jay asked, getting a look at both of their faces. Merriell collapsed back against the chunk of building they were hunkered down behind and Eugene just shook his head.  
"Something's wrong," Burgie said. "Their shots aren't getting through."   
"What?" Eugene said, but his words were nearly lost by sudden shouts of fear coming from the marines around them.  
A lone Jap soldier had appeared from inside the airbase. He was taking fire, stumbling a bit under the force of the bullets, but still advancing. A goddamn mutant. He stopped a few feet outside the base, raised something to his shoulder, a rocket launcher.   
"Oh, fuck!" Bill shouted, and they all ducked down as it went off, slammed into a bit of building that several marines had taken shelter behind and sent them flying, a cloud of red blood bursting up. The Jap dropped the rocket launcher, lifted up a machine gun.  
"Sledge, you gotta take him out," Burgie shouted, and Eugene jumped up, ran full tilt towards the soldier. The mutant turned and fired on him, but Eugene just raised an arm up to cover his face and charged on. He rammed shoulder first into the Jap and they both flew backwards into the base, disappearing from sight.  
"Mortars!" Jones yelled. "Get me some goddamn H.E. up top, front and center!"   
"Snafu, test it," Burgie said. Merriell didn't understand what the fuck he meant, but he charged a rock up and tossed it dead center on the upper level like he was told. The rock exploded mid-air, like it had come up against something. "Shit! They've got another one up there, I fucking know it." The marines around them were firing away, to no effect. Meanwhile, the Jap soldiers up top rained fire down on them, protected by some sort of invisible shield. "Jay, light the whole damn thing up. We gotta try and figure out the shape of it." Jay set to work immediately, sending out a near cascade of pyrotechnic explosives. No point being subtle anymore, they were all dead if they didn't end it quickly. Burgie watched where they hit carefully, mapping out the shield. Merriell stared at the dark opening that Eugene had disappeared through. He still hadn't come back out. He looked over at Bill, saw he was thinking the same thing. Bill nodded, grabbed his shoulder.   
"I'll get him, don't worry," he said, and rose to a half crouch.  
"Watch yourself Leyden," Merriell said, and Bill ducked around the side and made for the base, taking advantage of the blinding display Jay was sending up.   
"I think I got it, taper it off," Burgie said. He stared intently up at the Jap soldiers, fingers set and ready at the side of his glasses. "He'll be in the center of the shield if it's projecting out from him." The soldiers resumed firing down on them as Jay let up, and Merriell and Jay pressed back up against their cover. Burgie didn't move, face stone set.  
"Son of a bitch, Burgie, kill him," Jay snapped.  
"There," Burgie said, right on the tail of Jay's words, and he fired off a shot, small and tight and more powerful than anything Merriell could ever produce. He twisted to look, saw the beam stop mid-air, then punch in, breaking through the shield and slamming into the head of a soldier, crouched low near the center of the upper level. "He's down, the shield's down," Burgie shouted.  
Jones started yelling out orders, directing the attack, and the firefight that followed was intense but short. Then Haney was pushing forward, into the base, followed by a stream of soldiers. Burgie gestured for them to follow and they moved into the shadowy light of the structure, trailing behind as the marines mopped up.  
They found Eugene and Bill shortly after. Eugene was turned away, shrugging on a fresh set of fatigues. Bill was standing nearby, looking at the body of the dead mutant. There were a handful of other dead Japs scattered here and there. He looked up as they approached, gestured around at the bodies.   
"You should of seen it. They were standing right here, beating the living shit out of each other, and the Japs were standing around firing on them, hitting them both." Merriell felt his gut clench, he glanced over at the pile of rags that had been Eugene's uniform just a few minutes ago. "I had to take them out before I could lend Sledge a hand. Been looking at this guy," and he kicked the dead mutant's body, "trying to figure him out." Merriell quit listening, went over to Eugene, stopping in his tracks when he turned around. His skin was split over his cheekbone, his lip was busted up and swollen. He was leaning in on himself a bit, one hand pressed against his side. Merriell stepped forward, half raised a hand.   
"Hell, Sledgehammer," he said, and then couldn't think of what to say next. He glanced over at the body, saw his hands were bare. "How was he able to touch you?"  
"He wasn't." Eugene's voice was flat, his lips set. "He made contact twice, and each time I got a little bit of him. It's the only reason he wasn't able to finish me off, and damn quick." He looked down at the body. "He was strong, and he knew how to fight. Now I know a bit about that too, I guess. He didn't want to be here." He looked back up at Merriell. "He wasn't a good person, far from it, but he didn't want to be here."  
Merriell didn't know how to respond to that. It sounded rotten, having another person's memories and personality pushed into you against your will. "Got him in the end," he said. Eugene huffed a bitter little laugh, leaned back against the wall and pressed his gloved hands against his eyes.  
"Only because I knew his mind, had his measure for a moment. And Bill got him, really. Jumped on him and stabbed him in the eye after I managed to knock him down."  
Well, fuck. Merriell gave up on trying to say anything comforting, he was obviously shit at it. Instead he came and settled in beside him. He thought back on the last few hours, couldn't help the dark chuckle that rolled out of him. Eugene shot him a questioning look. "Told you Oswalt was no fucking good," he said, grinning. Eugene frowned.  
"Don't joke about that," he said, but then his frown changed, morphed into a pressed down smile. "There's something seriously wrong with you," he said, voice a little more lively. He pressed his shoulder against Merriell's, and Merriell pressed back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about Oswalt. I really liked his character in the show, but just had an idea for the story and ran with it. I will probably be updating weekly from this point on.


	7. Chapter 7

He found Burgie up top a little later, staring down at the body of the Jap mutant he had killed. Marines were posted all along the sides; they nodded to Merriell as he passed by, watched him with a different expression in their eyes than they had back on Pavuvu. Burgie's face was as hard and grim as it always was, but there was something in the tension of his shoulders, in the way he'd fisted his hands and settled them on his hips that told Merriell something had rattled him. He came up alongside him and looked down at the Jap.  
It was a woman. A girl. She was wearing the same uniform as all the rest, but it wasn't hidden. Her long hair was bound back along the nape of her neck, her face was a soft curve and so was her body, unmistakably female. The hole in her head where Burgie had hit her was small and neat, entering her temple and exiting the other side above her ear.  
"I heard you two talking," Burgie said. "You and Sledge. About that other mutant, how he didn't want to be here. What do you think the odds are that a young girl like her was here by choice?" His voice was flatly weary. "She was powerful, they both were. What do you suppose they did to force them to come here and fight?" Merriell folded his arms uncomfortably, glancing at the marines around them, but they didn't seem to be paying any attention.  
"Could ask Gene, about the other one." His tone of voice said what he thought of Burgie bothering Eugene about that. "This girl, there's no telling. Maybe they forced her, maybe she chose it for herself. Do you really wanna know?"  
Burgie was quiet for a long moment. "No," he said finally. "It wouldn't make a difference. I don't want to hate or pity them, just wanna do what we have to and get home." He smiled tightly. "Florence would probably have some words for me for feeling especially guilty over this anyways. She's living proof that a woman can be just as capable as a man, least as far as our kind go."  
"Girl is scary, I'll give you that," Merriell said, relieved that Burgie seemed to be moving past it, and Burgie gave a little laugh.  
They heard the rumble of a tank approaching and went to the edge to see who was rolling up. They watched as the marine inside threw the hatch open and yelled down to Captain Jones. "Is this Item Company?"  
"No, K/3/5," Jones yelled back. He was talking to one of his officers, standing with his foot propped up on a broken bit of cement.   
"I've got to get back to Baker 1/7. Do you have any idea where they are?"  
"No, I don't. I need you to take our wounded back to the beach."  
"No can do, we're moving out." Jones turned as the man closed the hatch, as the tank engine revved up, motioned with his head to someone behind him. The tank started to roll off as Eugene stepped out into view. He walked up to the tank and reached out one gloved hand, settled it into the grooves of the front sprocket. The tank groaned loud, the engine strained. The driver figured out quick that he wasn't moving and stopped fighting against it. Jones climbed up the side of the tank, long easy movements, and rapped hard against the hatch with his sidearm. Merriell couldn't hear what he said to the man once he opened the hatch back up, but it only lasted a moment, and then Jones was turning back around and shouting for them to get the wounded aboard. Merriell felt himself smiling. The skipper was alright, more than alright. And Eugene was fucking perfect.  
"You two seem closer lately," Burgie said, and Merriell looked away from Eugene, glanced over at him.   
"We ain't exactly on the same page," he answered, watching as Eugene released his grip on the tank, gave the marine up top a sheepish little nod. "But maybe we're both talking about the same damn book."  
"You never touched a book in your life," Burgie said, and Merriell snorted, shoved him.  
Late that night, Merriell woke up when Eugene came and settled in beside him. He'd been sleeping next to Jay, curled up on his side and turned away from the fires burning out in the black. Eugene leaned his back up against the pillar near Merriell's head and sighed quietly.  
"Nothing's changed, Sledge," Burgie said from where he was sitting and keeping watch. Leyden was snoring faintly beside him. "We don't go anywhere alone."  
"They've not seemed as bad since we landed," Eugene said. "Don't you think so too?"  
"Yes," Burgie answered, voice hard but not angry. "But it's just been two days. 'Sides, after what happened earlier today to Snafu, you know how dangerous it still is."  
Eugene was silent for a long moment. "That's where I was," he finally said. "Talking to Captain Jones, about what happened."  
"You told him." Now he sounded angry.  
"Burge, we can trust him. You know that. He needed to know. The two of them were mostly hidden from sight, but there were marines everywhere. What if one of them saw? What if he'd told someone what he was planning to do?"  
"Well, it's done now," Burgie said grudgingly. They were quiet for a long moment, and then Eugene spoke again.  
"I can't get it out of my head," he said, voice soft and open. "The way he looked, holding Snafu down. The way Snafu looked." Merriell felt his hand brush along his arm, light and fleeting, and then gone. "Burgie. I'd never been so scared before in my life."  
"It's alright, Sledgehammer," Burgie said quietly. "You got there in time." That flat voice of his could turn so damn gentle. "Go on and get some sleep." Eugene shifted, moving down until he was laying beside Merriell.   
He knew something about that kind of fear. Plenty, really. It was an entirely different creature than the fear of dying that all the boys here were struggling under, that sent cracks all through them or hardened them up or left them seeing clearly, too clearly. No, that other fear, Merriell hadn't felt it in a long time. But it'd been creeping back up on him, each time he checked to make sure they were all still in one piece, and it had reached up into his throat when Eugene had disappeared into the base and not come back out. Times like this, he wondered if the connection was worth the fear that came along with it. Haldane would have something to say to make him feel steadier about it, but Haldane was far away. But he would say something, and he would be right. Haldane was always right.  
It was a small comfort, but it was enough. Merriell fell back asleep without too much trouble. They were all together, and Burgie was keeping watch. He was still safe.  
The next morning they started heading up into the hills. Merriell ambled along with the rest of them, munching on a pork chop and settling his helmet on his head. Eugene was right, the men in their company seemed to have had a shift in opinion regarding the five of them. Their voices didn't rise and fall depending on how close they might be standing, their eyes had lost that hateful glint. They didn't edge away from them as they trudged along, made room instead. It was a small thing, but noticeable. They seemed to have warmed up to Bill in particular, talked to him a handful of times in passing, called him by his name. They'd regret it soon enough, once the boy got comfortable and wouldn't shut his damn trap.  
He moved up to walk alongside Eugene. "Saw you writing yesterday." Eugene looked over at him. "Writing to Mary?"  
"No," he answered. His cheek and lip were both bruised dark purple, but it seemed to Merriell that they were healing faster than they would for a human. "Just some notes, impressions. I've been thinking about her though. Trying to figure out what I'm going to tell her about all this." Merriell gnawed on his lip and watched him, waited. "I want her to be glad Sid's not out here, but I don't want to upset her either."  
"Don't leave you with much to work with," Merriell said, and Eugene's lips pulled back into a smile.  
"I could tell her about the company I keep," he said, all cool and dry. "That might do the trick."  
Merriell felt himself grinning, felt it pull its way across his face. Hell if the boy wasn't flirting with him, just a bit. "Got a smoke?" He asked, knowing the answer. Eugene reached into his pocket and pulled out two cigarettes. He handed one to Merriell, kept one for himself. Merriell watched him light it, take a slow puff. "Knew I'd get you in the end," he said, pitching his voice low so that Eugene wouldn't mistake his real meaning.  
Eugene's neck turned just the lightest shade of pink and he looked fixedly down at his cigarette. "I still don't like the taste," he said, deliberately misunderstanding. "But that's not why you smoke them, is it? It's for that little burst of feeling you get from it."  
Really, he made it too damn easy. Merriell leaned in close, Eugene's eyes rising up to meet his. "Chéri," he murmured. "Little burst of feeling don't begin to describe it."  
"Jesus Christ," Bill said, directly behind them. Eugene jumped and nearly dropped his cigarette. "What gives with you two all of a sudden." Merriell grinned and dropped back to walk beside Bill, gave Eugene a little space.   
"Don't worry Bill Leyden, I still got time for you too," he said and Bill rolled his eyes and snapped back at him and all in all it wasn't too bad a morning.  
It didn't last of course. Later that same day Merriell sat with Jay and Bill and drummed his fingers restlessly along the stock of his carbine. They were in the beginning of the hills now, the terrain rocky and difficult, the view obscured by the rising land and thickening foliage. Jones had taken Sledge and Burgie further ahead to scout out the objective. They weren't gone long before the sound of gunfire started up. Merriell exchanged an uneasy glance with Jay, shifted up to a crouch. He could hear heavy artillery, shouting, the blast of mortars.  
"Skipper coming in," someone shouted, and Jones came into view, blue eyes seeming to burn out from his dirty face.  
"Radio, get me Battalion," he said, as Burgie and Eugene came back to where they were sitting and dropped down beside them. They were a little rattled, were listening intently to Jones as he spoke into the radio, describing a heavily defended objective with limited approach. "Objective cannot be taken without unacceptable casualties. Do you copy?" He listened for a moment, then tossed the handset down with a curse.  
"We can take it, Captain," Burgie said, and Jones looked over at him. "The five of us."  
Jones stared hard at Burgie, then flicked his gaze over the rest of them. He looked angry, but Merriell knew him well enough by now to know he was just thinking, weighing the idea.  
"No," he said finally. "You boys ain't here to pull our asses through on impossible odds. We did the recon. I need these orders changed." He stood up and started giving orders to his officers. Apparently the man was planning to head back to Battalion on his own to see it done. He was a good one, Merriell couldn't deny it. Haney liked and respected him, so did Sledge and Burgie. He wondered what Haldane would have thought of him.   
That night he sat with Sledge and Burgie and tried to settle in the hole they had dug out for themselves, leaning back against his pack with his gun in his lap. He was trying to work out some way to prop his head up with his arm that wasn't goddamn uncomfortable, but wasn't having any luck. Haney came over and crouched down beside them.  
"Check your weapons. Keep a round chambered."  
"Done," Merriell answered.  
"What've I been telling you about being fucking stupid?" Haney growled. He was looking at Burgie.  
"We could have taken it." Burgie's voice was calm and steady. "You and Haldane ran us through similar objectives."  
"Your scrawny asses are lucky the Captain's got a straight head on his shoulders then," Haney said, glaring hard eyed at Burgie. He didn't answer, just stared back at him, face stoic, unreadable behind his glasses. "Can you believe this bullshit about the dog?" Haney said, abruptly shifting subjects. "Some dog's supposed to smell a Jap before me? I don't think so. I appreciate the thought, but ain't no dog gonna make me sleep safe at night."  
"These boys don't know," Merriell said. "Don't need no dog when you've got Bill Leyden." He looked over his shoulder at where Bill and Jay were sitting in their own hole, listening in. Bill grinned, rubbed his stub nose with his knuckle.  
"We got it Haney, you and me," he said.  
Haney looked over at him, expression gruff and mean, like always. "Woof," he said, and got up and moved off.   
Merriell felt a laugh rolling up in him. Eugene looked back at him, baffled. Burgie's lips twitched. "What the fuck was that?" Merriell said, really laughing now, trying to keep it quiet. Burgie and Sledge gave in, started laughing along with him; he could hear Bill and Jay snickering behind him. There wasn't anyone quite like Haney.  
He was just starting to drift off sometime later when the whimpering started. He lifted his head, looked over at where Eugene was keeping watch. "What's that?"  
"Sounds like some guy having a nightmare," Eugene whispered back. He was looking towards a hole somewhere in front of them.  
"He'd better shut up before every Nip on this island knows we're here," Merriell said. Burgie sat up quick beside him as low, harsh calls started up around them.  
"Quiet that man down!"  
"Goddamn it, shut up." The boys in the foxhole with the man shook him roughly and then he started to scream, started struggling against them. "Quiet down!" One of them hissed, but he was gone, long gone. He threw them off and stood up, still shouting. Burgie jumped up and ran over to help as the dread drew in tighter around them and someone called out to stick him with morphine.  
"Shut that fucker up," Merriell grated out, grabbing his gun and sitting up beside Eugene.  
"Jesus Christ, who the hell is that?" Eugene said. He was leaning forward anxiously, wanting to help, not wanting to get too close.  
"Help me, please!" The man screamed out. "Help me!" They'd forced him back down to the ground, but he was still fighting. Sudden flares lit up the sky.  
"That guy is gonna get us all killed if he don't shut up." Anger was better than fear, easier to grapple with. Merriell let himself hate the man, imagined putting his hand over his nose and mouth and pressing down until he stopped struggling. He felt more than saw Eugene turn and look at him.  
One of the men yelled out to hit him with something, and Merriell watched as another reached down, grabbed a shovel. Eugene made a little noise in the back of his throat and jumped up, moving forward uncanny fast. He yanked the shovel from the man's hand and shoved him to the side, then reached in and grabbed two other struggling soldiers, hauling them back and tossing them away like they were nothing. Burgie saw him, moved away, and Eugene threw the last man off and stood over the screaming marine. He knelt down, pushed the man's flailing hands down and away, pushed his face in close to the other man's.   
For one mad moment, gripped by the fear and the dark, Merriell thought he had kissed him. But then another flare flew up, lit the scene, and he saw that Eugene had pressed their foreheads together. The man gave one last choking cry, and then fell silent. But he didn't fall still. His body arched, started to shake. His limbs flew out straight like someone had set a live wire to him. He started to make some sort of small, horrible sound, somewhere between a retch and a word. Eugene held him tight, unmoving.  
"Sledge, that's enough," Burgie snapped, launching forward and shoving the full weight of his body against Eugene's shoulder. Eugene pulled back with a sobbing gasp, jumped backwards and away from the man, who slumped down to the ground and lay still.  
"The fuck did you do to him?" One of the men said, and knelt down beside him. "He's alive," he said, and the iron band that had been tightening and crushing closed around them eased, let them all breathe.  
"Alright," Burgie said, voice cool, but it was clear to Merriell how uneasy he was. "Back to your hole, Sledge." Eugene turned, stumbled, started making his way back to Merriell.  
"What did you do to him?" The same man said. The anger in the accusation didn't do much to cover the fear.  
"Shut up," Haney barked. "Everyone back to your holes and keep fucking quiet." Merriell looked up at Eugene as he came and stood beside him; he was staring out at nothing, his eyes wide and darting. Merriell realized with churning dismay that Eugene had just absorbed the thoughts and feelings of a boy who had, as far as he could tell, gone insane. He wrapped his fingers around Eugene's wrist, tugged gently. Eugene lowered himself down, sat unnaturally stiff beside him. He started to rock back and forth a little.  
"No," Merriell said, giving the wrist he was still holding a squeeze. "You're alright, Sledge. You're alright. Keep watch," he said to Burgie, not bothering to look away from Eugene. He went back to murmuring low to him. "Come on, lay down. You're safe, you got your boys here with you." He didn't know if it was the same comfort to Eugene that it was to him, but it was all he could think to say. It worked well enough; something cleared a little in Eugene's eyes and he looked at Merriell, lay back slowly. Merriell lay down beside him, scooted close enough so that he could keep on talking to him without worrying that anyone would hear them, except maybe Burgie. "Tell me something," he said, and stopped, faltered. He didn't have any idea what to say next, but he opened his mouth anyway. "About your friend. Sid." Thank fucking Christ.  
"What about him?" Eugene asked after a moment. His voice was just a broken little shake, it made Merriell want to pull him in close.   
"Anything. Just wanna know more about this boy you're always writing about." The jealousy was real, but Merriell thought he managed to play it off like he was just fucking around. "What'd the two of you get up to together?"  
"Everything," Eugene said simply, and didn't speak for a bit. When he did, his voice was a little steadier. "I'm the older one, but Sid was always leading the way. He just had something about him. Always thinking up some scheme, some big adventure. I liked following after him." He was quiet for a moment, then went on. "He wanted to be a doctor, so I wanted to be a doctor. I would always say it was because of my father, but it was because of Sid."  
"Yeah, but what'd you really want to be?" Merriell asked, and Eugene turned his head and looked at him. The wild edge was gone from his eyes, it was just Eugene looking out again, dark, open. He smiled small.  
"I don't know. Not a doctor. What about you?"  
Merriell snorted. "Hell, Sledgehammer, a fancy job was just about the furthest thing from my mind. Just wanted a roof and three meals a day." Eugene's eyes sharpened, Merriell could tell he was gearing up to ask one of those heavy questions that he had so much trouble dodging, so he spoke quick. "Go to sleep. Burgie's keeping watch."  
"Will you let go of my wrist?" Eugene asked, and Merriell realized he was still holding tight to it. He grunted, let go. Eugene rolled so that his back was to him, but stayed close. Merriell tucked him arms under his head and tried not to think about what might happen once the sun came up.  
The next morning the five of them stood close together, watching as the Doc looked the boy, Turner was his name, over. "He's stable," he said finally. "Need to get him back to Battalion. He's in a coma of some kind." He looked over at Eugene. "You have any idea when he might wake up?"  
"No," Eugene said. "I'm sorry."  
"What'd you do to him?" One of the marines said. Two steps forward, three steps back. They were staring at the five of them with open hate and distrust now.  
"I-" Eugene said, but Jay cut in.  
"Less than what you were going to do to him. How do you think he'd look right now, if you'd taken that shovel to him?" Merriell shifted, pulled in a little closer.   
"Mutants," another one of them said, and spat. "That sound he made, what the fuck did you do?" Eugene flinched, and Merriell felt something inside of him flip over, burst hot.  
"I'm sorry," Eugene said again, but Merriell spoke over him.  
"What's he done? Just saved your sorry, worthless ass twice over." He stepped forward, stared the man down. "I saw you at the airbase, when that Jap came strolling out, bullets bouncing off, throwing heavy fire. You were hunkered down with the rest of them, getting all set to piss your pants."  
"Snafu," Burgie said. The marine scowled, squared up.  
"Watch your mouth, freak."  
"You'd be just another corpse laying out in the heat right now if it wasn't for us. Nips would be walking past your stinking bits, rifling through whatever little shit possessions you been holding tight to-"  
"Shut up," the man snapped.  
"- and you'd rot out in the sun before anybody ever bothered to do something about you. And last night, if you'd been smart you would of murdered one of your own to stop them from finding us."  
"Enough, Snafu," Burgie said, but Merriell wasn't done, not even close. The boy was going to let himself go in a moment, he could see it in his eyes. He pushed on.  
"But you just sat there and set to pissing yourself again, didn't you? And now you wanna stand here and jaw like you're some kind of man, a real marine -" The man swung at him and Merriell had a split second of vicious satisfaction, but then Bill was there in front of him. He caught the man's fist, shoved him back and raised his hands up.  
"Easy, easy. Snafu, calm the hell down." Merriell turned on him.  
"Outta my way, Leyden, the boy wants to see how he measures up against a mutant, and I'm-"  
"Sledge, get him out of here," Burgie said, and then Eugene's gloved hand clamped down over Merriell's mouth as he dragged him back. Merriell saw red. He thought about biting Eugene's hand, but knew that would just end with him breaking his own teeth. He struggled instead, knowing all the while it was useless, Eugene was too damn strong. He pulled him back and away, until they were out of sight from the rest of the company, on the other side of some big rocks.  
"Snafu, just calm down," Eugene said, and then let him go. Merriell whipped around, shoved him hard. Eugene didn't move, of course, Merriell just bounced himself off him.  
"You fucking try that again, I'll shove a rock down your throat and we'll see how sturdy your insides are, you understand me?"  
"Shut up," Eugene said wearily.  
"Fuck you," Merriell spat. "You think I'm gonna stand here and let these stupid shits convince themselves they're better than us? You think-" Eugene stepped forward, moving in close, and Merriell shoved at him again. "Back the fuck off, don't you-" Eugene's hands came up, one reaching around to settle along the back of his neck, the other coming down over his mouth, gentle and implacable. Merriell got ready to bite down and damn his teeth, but then Eugene moved in even closer, so that Merriell could suddenly feel him all along the front of him. He froze, watched in shock as Eugene tilted his head and pressed his lips along the back of his own hand, the hand he'd put over Merriell's mouth. His other hand squeezed gently on Merriell's neck and he breathed out hard through his nose, Merriell felt it fan out along his cheek and the side of his own nose. He stared into Eugene's eyes, realized with a jolt of heat what was happening, what this was. A kiss. The closest they'd ever get to a kiss.  
Eugene pulled back, just a bit, eyes piercing. "Shut up," he said again, and then he dropped his hands, he stepped back, walked away. Merriell stood stunned and stared at nothing, felt his heart pounding in his chest and the rush of blood in his cock, felt the jitteriness kick in that followed after adrenaline. He reached up and touched his own lips, the surrounding skin where Eugene had put his hand, where he had felt his breath. Jesus Christ, he'd kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any fans of the 90's cartoon? You know I had to put a back of the hand kiss in there somewhere!


	8. Chapter 8

"I can't even recognize this place."  
"Judging from those planes, I think it's the airfield we took a while back." Bill and Burgie's voices were growing clearer as they approached. Eugene didn't look up from the letter he was working on.  
"Oh, yeah, now I remember. We were over there and the Japs were over there."  
"The Jap's were where we're sitting."  
"Right, it's all coming back to me now." They crossed in front of him and started looking for a spot on the pile of busted up cement they had claimed for themselves.  
"If I was a human, I would've enlisted in the Seabees," Jay said as Bill settled in beside him. He was watching the navy men unload munitions from the back of a truck. "I could have come to Peleliu in the seat of a bulldozer."  
"Any of you guys got a Jap sword or flag? I'll pay good money for it." Eugene glanced up to see a navy man standing in front of them as if Jay's words had summoned him up. "Or a Jap bayonet? Any kind of Jap weapon, I'll take it." Eugene refocused on his letter.  
"Sure," Bill said. "I keep them in my ass. Reach up, grab what you want." Jay and Burgie snorted.  
"Seriously. I gotta get me a Jap sword. I can't go home from the war empty-handed."  
"I can arrange for a purple heart," Jay said, deceptively light, shifting his gun on his lap. The man got the message after that, moved away. Eugene glanced at Jay, looked over at Snafu. He gave him a look and rolled one shoulder in the slightest of shrugs. _What can you do?_  
Apparently, nothing. The last couple of weeks had been hard on all of them, but Eugene thought they had worn on Jay most heavily of all. He had always been quick with an off-color joke, but they had developed a mean, reckless kind of edge recently that left Eugene concerned. Maybe he would mention it in his letter to Haldane, ask him for advice.  
They'd claimed the southern tip of the island, and had then been sent to secure the northern end. But the mountainous central portion was still hotly contested, the Japs dug in, ruthless and clever. The fighting was intense, each peak bitterly won. Add to that the fact that the rest of the company still kept them at a distance, still stared hard and muttered behind their turned backs, and Eugene could understand why Jay seemed to be sinking under the weight of it all.  
"Skipper," Burgie said in greeting. Eugene glanced up to see that Captain Jones had come over.   
"Boys," he said easily. He looked at Eugene, sat down beside him on the rubble. He'd cleaned up, face clear of dirt, curls still damp. It impressed Eugene, that he managed to right himself in that way whenever they were off rotation, make himself something more than a soldier. "You write a lot a letters home, Sledge. Got a big family?"  
"No, Sir," he answered. "I write my parents regular, and a friend of mine back in Mobile. This one's going to Haldane, Andrew Haldane."  
"Your mentor," Jones said, and Eugene felt himself smile.  
"I suppose that is the best word for him."  
"I'm curious about him. He's still young enough, isn't that right? Why didn't he enlist, come over with you boys?"  
Eugene could see Snafu listening closely, watching the two of them with intent, distrustful eyes. He was incredibly protective of Haldane, they all were, but Snafu and Burgie had a different relationship with him, bound tight to him in a way that the rest of them were not. Eugene tried to ignore him, thought carefully about Jones' question. He trusted him, the man had proven himself time and again.  
"Do you know, I've never even imagined him over here?" He said eventually. "To have him here would be," he drifted off, couldn't think of a word to describe what it would mean to him to be able to talk with Andy. "He always knows what to say, to help plant your feet, get you standing straight. And not 'cause of his powers. It's just the way he is, it's," he stopped again, lifted a hand and pressed it against his chest. Jones watched him, brow furrowed, and nodded slowly. "But I'm glad he's not here. He's fighting too, fighting for all of us."  
"You mean for mutants," Jones said, and Eugene nodded tentatively, aware of Snafu's growing displeasure. Jones smiled, but there was an edge to it, something almost angry. "Maybe he can expand it a little, help out some humans. Lot of folk over there have to hide away and live in fear, not just mutants." His blue eyes burned with something for a moment, and then he blinked, cleared them. "But we all have to pick our battles," he said, voice easy again. He stood back up, looked them over with an unsmiling face that still managed to be genial. "Rest while you can, we'll be moving out soon enough." Eugene watched him walk off, then looked over at Snafu as he leaned forward, hooking his arms around his knees.  
"Don't start," he said.  
"Why?" Snafu said, lip curling. "I'm all worked up over here trying to think what you might do to stop me." Eugene scowled and looked away. It had taken him a bit, as if he'd needed time to sit with it, but Snafu had eventually started in with increasingly unsubtle allusions to what had happened between the two of them, that morning after Turner lost it. He still didn't understand what the hell had come over him. It had all just been building and building between them, each day Eugene had found it harder to hold back, and he had never seen Snafu so incandescently furious before, so livid, spitting rage, and when he'd turned it on Eugene he hadn't been able to do anything in response but step in, close the gap. He couldn't even bring himself to regret it. He looked back over at Snafu, all dirty warm skin and dark hair, big eyes that grabbed on and didn't turn loose. He was on the other side of regretting anything.   
Something in his expression had Snafu's eyes growing even more intent, made him part his lips slightly and lean forward a bit more. He started to speak, but then Burgie leaned out and smacked his hand against the back of Snafu's head, making him pull away and spin around to glare at him.  
"Cut it out with the long looks, the both of you," he said, face hard, voice a touch amused. "They don't need another reason to hate us." That started Bill and Jay in on a series of increasingly crude jokes at their expense that left Snafu far too smugly pleased and Eugene mortified. He returned his attention to his letter and fought not to blush.  
That night they were back out in the black, in the eerie quiet. Snafu was curled up against Eugene's leg, sleeping as easily in the dirt as if he were in his own bed back at Haldane's. He wasn't much more than a smudge of deeper color in the dark, but Eugene stared down at him anyways, longer than he should, picking out the dark slash of his brow, the soft slant of his nose. He looked away, directed his attention back to where it should be, watching ahead of him for any indication of danger.  
There was no warning when they came. At first Eugene thought the sounds he was hearing behind him were two marines, scuffling for space. But then there was a choked off cry, and then a string of soft words in an almost familiar tongue. He spun around, even as Bill spoke.  
"Japs, four of them!"  
There were sounds of struggling, muffled yelps. Haney's voice cracked out, calling for them to sound off, check the holes next to them. Snafu had shot up and was looking around wildly, still orienting himself.  
"One jumped into our hole," a marine said, Eugene thought it was Guerrero. "We got him."   
"Two dead Nips," Knight called out. His voice was shaking. "They got Byrd."  
"My God," someone else said. "Bolton and Ward are both dead."  
"How'd they get into the middle of camp?" Another said.  
"There were four, where's the fourth Jap?" Bill hissed, and then someone let out a shout from the eastern side. They turned towards it, and Eugene felt a terrible certainty growing and settling low in his spine.   
"The fuck is going on?" Jay said, voice tight. They listened to the whole thing repeat itself, marines sounding off, panic edging in now as the confusion grew. Five more dead marines, four more dead Japs.  
"There were five, that time," Bill growled. "One keeps disappearing."  
"It's a mutant," Burgie said, deadly certain. Eugene turned to look at Snafu, saw a sudden bunching of the shadows behind him.  
"Down," he snapped, surging forward as two shapes closed in. Snafu ducked instinctively and Eugene knocked one figure aside with a wide sweep of his arm, grabbed the other one's blade as it cut down towards him, yanking the Jap in closer. He slammed the heel of his palm into his face, felt it fold in around his hand. He tossed the body to the side, turning back to the first one, but Snafu had already taken care of it, was pulling his knife free from the base of its skull. Eugene looked around for more, and that was when he saw it, about twenty feet out, a rippling of the dark. He could almost make out a moving shape. He scrabbled for his gun, but the figure was already disappearing, like it was being sucked away.  
"One mutant, maybe two," he said. "One of them's camouflaged, almost invisible."  
"And they're being moved in somehow," Burgie said in agreement.  
"Just one," Bill said. "They're there, and then they disappear. They're keeping hidden, dropping Japs in and then popping away to get more."  
"Captain," Burgie called out.  
"I heard," Jones said. "Burgin, you boys fan out, keep your focus on the mutant. The rest of you, stay in your holes and get ready."  
They spread out, Burgie heading for the center and the rest of them moving toward the edges of the camp. Eugene had barely reached his destination, muttering quietly all the while so that the marines he passed would know it was him, when the low shouts started up again, quick calls of where and how many. It was on the opposite side from where he was, so that all he could do was stand tensely, straining to see, unable to make out a damn thing.  
"Nothing," Snafu called out, and Jones cursed and called for a sound off. Eugene felt the pressure grow, knew they were all thinking the same thing. How long could this go on, how many men could they lose over the course of one night if they kept being picked off like this? They'd barely started sounding off, when it started up again.   
Eugene was still trying to place by sound where the fight was taking place when he heard Jay shout, something wordless and frightened. There was a flash of light, strangely muffled, like thick cloth thrown over a bright bulb, and the continuing sounds of struggle, and then Jay's voice, cutting through it. "Jesus, fuck! He's down!"  
The rest of the night was spent dragging bodies aside, one pile for their own and one for the Japs, and then they returned to their holes and the lucky ones were able to sleep for a few hours more before it was time to get back under their gear. So it wasn't until that morning that the five of them gathered together around the body of the dead mutant.  
"Another girl," Burgie said. He shook his head. This one was older than the first, and seemed somehow more militant to Eugene, hair cut short as a man's, and armed with a blade and pistol. "I gotta say, it still surprises me. I never heard of a woman being used for her powers in a war before, least not so openly."  
"Maybe they're getting desperate," Eugene said.   
"How the hell did you even kill her?" Bill asked. "I don't see any marks on her." Jay was staring down at the woman, hands clenching nervously.   
"I'd never tried it before," he said, voice bleak and low. "And I'm not going to ever do it again." He turned and walked away, and the rest of them stared at each other in consternation, then followed after him.  
"But what did you do?" Bill asked, later, as they marched along, past the ashen remains of foliage and the half-dead trees that still stood. "I mean, seriously. How'd you do it?"  
"Can it, Bill," Burgie said. They walked in silence for a moment, and then,  
"Just seems pretty crazy, being able to drop a body without leaving any marks."  
"Bill," Burgie said again, harder this time.  
"I'm just saying - "  
"It's something Haldane and I talked about," Jay said abruptly. "A precise pop, going small and tight instead of large and noisy. We talked about the different ways it could be used. I never liked the idea of it."  
"A precise pop," Eugene said slowly. "Where?" Jay looked over at him, dark eyes closed off and dull. There had always been something lively in them, before. A spark unique to him.  
"In her head. I ruptured something in there, made her brain bleed." He looked back down. "I don't know why it even bothers me. It's all we're doing out here anyway. Killing. Letting them make us into monsters, like they always said we were." Eugene felt the blow from his words, but the real pain was all for Jay. He was starting to fall away.  
"Jay," he said, not knowing what he would say next, and then gunfire ripped through the air and the marine in front of them screamed and fell to the ground clutching his blown out knee. Eugene dropped down, shifting over so that he was between them and the spray of bullets. He could hear Haney shouting to move, take cover, heard Jones yell for them to plant themselves behind a nearby bunker. He and Leyden followed behind the rest, the rattling gunfire so loud that he barely made out Burgie confirming with another platoon that the bunker had been cleared. Hunkered down in front as they assembled the mortar, rifle up and ready, he was so intently focused on watching back the way they'd come that it took him a moment to register Bill's hand on his arm, fingers pressing in. He looked over, saw that Bill was staring at him with a strangely stiff face. His eyes were narrow slits, he held Eugene's gaze and motioned slow with his head, the slightest of tilts towards something behind them, towards the bunker. Eugene turned his head carefully, looked at it out of the corner of his eye, the one barred opening within view. He couldn't make out anything.  
"Burge," Bill said, more quiet and deliberate than he had ever spoken before. It snagged Burgie's attention, had him looking sharply over at him. "You boys come on around in front of us, yeah?" They were all staring at him now. Eugene shifted his weight, started slowly turning towards the bunker. "Need you on this other side."  
Eugene hadn't taken his eye off the opening, had been watching it as closely as he could from his peripheral. What he could make out was so dark that he didn't understand how he even managed to see it, the glint of something metallic inside. He moved instinctively, pushing Jay out and away and throwing himself forward on top of Snafu as machine gun fire cracked the air above them. He rolled over him, came up in a crouch and returned fire. Bullets slapped into flesh, a wide sweep across his torso, little bursts of white hot pain. He set his jaw and kept up the suppressing fire. But the shots kept on coming.   
"Get on the bunker," Burgie shouted. Eugene could see him out of the corner of his eye, moving up towards it with Leyden covering him. On his other side, Jay was just recovering from the tumble Eugene had sent him into. He lifted a hand and sent a bright flare of light straight into the opening, jumping up and making a run for the bunker as he did so.  
"Snafu, go!" Eugene said, and Snafu sprinted after Jay. Eugene kept firing into that black hole until they'd made it to the top of the bunker, then moved to join them, pressing himself along the side in order to keep an eye on the exits. Bill was already on the opposite end.  
"Keep clear," Burgie snapped, addressing the other squad that had hunkered down nearby. "Bill, how many we got?"  
"One," Leyden answered, voice tense, like he was working his words out past gritted teeth. "There's something wrong with it."  
"Snafu," Jay said. "Venting shaft." Eugene didn't turn to look, didn't need to in order to know what they were trying.   
"Brace yourselves," Snafu said, and then smoke and dust plumed out from the bunker's openings and it vibrated with the explosive force of his charged rock. Eugene strained to hear, eyes focused on the barred opening.  
"He's still alive," Bill said. "He doesn't-" and then his words cut off.  
"Son of a bitch!" Burgie shouted, and Bill _screamed_.  
Eugene whipped around as shots started up, saw Snafu crouched and firing at something, Burgie with his hand on the side of his glasses. On the other side, Bill was half on, half off the bunker, face a rictus of pain, hands pushing and straining against something, Eugene couldn't understand it, it looked like he was wrapped up in metal coils. He jumped up onto the bunker, moving to help, even as Burgie fired off a beam and the coils shifted and moved in response but didn't let go of Bill, even as Jay shouted in wordless alarm and opened fire on something on the end he had been watching, the entrance. Eugene dropped down on the side of the bunker by Bill, letting go of his rifle and grabbing on to the metal coil wrapped around Bill's waist. It was like steel, but stronger, and pain shot through his hands and up into his arms when he touched them. He gasped out, held on.   
"Grenade!" Jay shouted, and Eugene looked up to see the three of them jumping up, off the bunker. He tightened his grip on the steel-like coils and yanked, tried to pull Bill away, but they seemed to fight against him, dragging Bill further up onto the bunker instead, towards the grenade. The next moment coalesced into a series of images for Eugene, sharp and horror-filled. Looking down, seeing the metal coil where it emerged from another one of the bunker's small openings. Bill struggling, trying to scrabble back, being dragged on. Letting go of Bill's waist, grabbing the coil at its base and pulling with all his strength. It resisted, then tore apart in his hands. He reached back up for Bill, but too late.  
The grenade went off, Bill flew back and off the bunker, hit the ground with a boneless thud and didn't move again. "Bill, no," Eugene stuttered, and then he was scrambling down towards him, turning him over. He couldn't make out his features through the mess of ripped away flesh and exposed bone, his chest seemed to give a little under Eugene's gently probing hand. Eugene felt the gorge rise in his throat, fought down the urge to be sick. On the other side of the bunker, he heard Burgie shouting orders, heard gunfire, the boom of Jay's pyrotechnics. They were still fighting it, whatever it was. Eugene dragged Bill's body down and away, and then left him lying there. He had to get back.  
Skirting around, he saw that they had regrouped and taken cover behind the low concrete wall that looked down on the bunker's entrance. From where he stood, Eugene saw the tendril-like metal coil before they did, flowing out quick and sinuous from the bunker's entrance. He started to shout, but it was already too late, the coil moved unerringly over the ledge that they were hiding behind, wrapped itself tight around Jay's throat. Jay's hands came up, his mouth opened uselessly. Eugene fought against the instinct to get to him, help him. Instead he ran towards the bunker's entrance, stripping off his gloves as he went. The opening was narrow, what lay beyond lost to darkness. He heard Burgie say his name as he plunged inside.   
He didn't have time to let his eyes adjust to the sudden dimness, just focused on the steel-like cable and followed it further in, around tight corners and down narrow ways, his shoulders brushing along the walls. He stepped over bodies as he went, dead Jap soldiers. The cable suddenly retracted, snapping past him and around a corner. Eugene followed. It had let go of Jay. It knew he was coming. He rounded the corner and came into the bunker's central space.   
There was some light, coming in from two small openings on opposite walls, cutting across the room in narrow slashes. In that dimness, the figure who stood waiting seemed hulking huge and menacing, seemed to fill up the small space. His arms hung at his sides, and a twisting, writhing metal cable was attached to each hand. No, his hands were free save for the gun he was holding in his left, the coils were coming out of the skin of his arm. His face was shadowed, but Eugene saw the flash of teeth, the glint of a dark gaze. He said something, Eugene had only the faintest understanding left after the powers and thoughts of Masao had faded away, but he thought it was some sort of welcome. Christ, he wished he had more of that man's mind now, he could use his ruthless grit, his battle knowledge.   
A faint sound from behind, boots moving deliberate across rough cement, and Snafu came up beside Eugene, rifle up, eyes wide and intent. Eugene couldn't afford to really look at him, just watched as the Jap's rigid smile grew, baring more teeth. "Get out, Snafu," he said, fighting to keep his voice even. "Please."  
"Without you?" Snafu bit out. "What the fuck would be the point?" Eugene felt it clench in his chest, but he couldn't let himself feel any of that right now, not when the Jap was shifting his weight, lifting his head and stepping into the light. God, what was he, what had they made him? His eyes were dead, his face stiffly fixed. He was staring at some point over their shoulders, and the sudden darting movement of his eyes was Eugene's only indication of his intent before the cables were whipping forward, towards Snafu. Eugene lunged, got a hold of one and in the way of the other; it wrapped itself tight around his chest and waist. He was prepared for the pain this time, but it still forced a sound out of him, a gasping cry. He wondered if this was what it felt like to burn. Snafu cursed and moved around behind him, firing on the Jap, the shots incredibly loud in the small space. The creature staggered under their force but continued to stand.   
Eugene reached down with his free hand and grabbed the coil wrapped around his waist, held on to it. He gripped the other cable with his opposite hand, started looping it around his own arm. God, he was dizzy from the pain, it was running along the whole of his body, but he had to control the cables if they were going to have any chance. Snafu was keeping up a steady stream of fire and it seemed to be working at least in part; the Jap took his focus off Eugene, raised his gun towards Snafu. Eugene yanked hard on the cable and the bullets sprayed wild, peppering across the walls and floor. The creature turned his head jerkily back towards Eugene, his grin ticked its way further across his face.   
The coils tightened, started pulling Eugene in, and Eugene let them. He was going to have to do it, he was going to have to touch this fucking monster. The fear rose up, greater and more overwhelming than the pain. He didn't want it in him, didn't want to know. Snafu was still firing, but more carefully now as the space between Eugene and the creature grew smaller. From this distance Eugene could see that the bullets were having an impact; the Jap was bleeding, though not as much as he should. What if its mind was stronger, what if he couldn't hold on to himself?   
They were near one of the barred openings. Under that harsh light, Eugene stared into the Jap's face, into its lifeless eyes, as it pulled him in until they were less than a foot apart. It lifted the gun and shot him in the torso, casual, testing. Eugene barely even felt it with the pain coursing all through him. He fixed himself in his own mind, he had to hold on to who he was. He felt his father touch his chest, _You keep your true purpose in here_ , saw Haldane's warm eyes, _You have an interesting mind, Eugene_. He reached out, the cables around his arm resisting against his movement, but unable to stop him.  
A hand thrust forward, through the bars of the opening, grabbed the Jap by its hair and yanked it back, so that the back of its head slammed against the thick iron. Eugene looked up, saw Bill's face, still half ruined, wild, eyes feral. His free hand reared back, and then punched forward, and the Jap's face was suddenly pierced by three sharp points, long claws, dripping blood. Bill pulled back, punched in again, and again, and Eugene stood in shock as the coils fell away from him and the Jap went limp and its eyes changed and Bill kept stabbing in with his fist and three long claws.


	9. Chapter 9

Later, the five of them sat huddled together, pressed as close as they could get in their ponchos. It was pouring rain, but none of them were willing to move out of it to go to their separate tented holes. It was almost amusing, how obviously rattled they all were, how badly they were hiding it. Snafu was sitting between him and Burgie, the two of them debating car engines. He was holding his cigarette in one hand, and the other was up inside Eugene's poncho, clasped tight around his knee. Jay was beside Burgie, passed out asleep, his helmeted head fallen over on Burgie's shoulder. He'd been weak and listless ever since the mutant had gotten him with those strange cables, Eugene supposed it was only thanks to Sid's superhuman endurance that he wasn't in the same state. On his other side, Bill was disturbingly silent, staring straight ahead at nothing. He was healed, all outward signs of what he'd been through gone. But he was marked all the same.   
Haney came and crouched down in front of them, holding three steaming tin mugs. "Coffee," he said. "Drink it, and don't give me any fucking lip about it." They must be looking pretty pitiful, to have Haney fussing over them. Eugene and Bill both reached out and accepted a mug. Haney kept the third one, stayed where he was, looking them over with a grim eye. "The hell do you boys fail to comprehend about not being so goddamn stupid?" His voice was flinty hard as always, but Eugene looked him in the eye and saw the truth, what he was really trying to say. He smiled a little, didn't look away.  
"It's like you said, Gunny. We can't manage without you." The corner of Haney's mouth twitched, and he cuffed the side of Eugene's helmet, and then reached over and took hold of Bill by the shoulder. He gave him a little shake, pushed in close.   
"You'd do alright." He stared into Bill's face while he said it, held his eyes afterwards, until Bill nodded slowly back at him. He stood up with a grunt, glancing over at Jay. "Get him into his tent," he said to Burgie as he stalked off.  
"Well," Burgie said, "I suppose I can't disobey a direct order. C'mon, De L'Eau." He helped Jay up, led him away still mostly asleep. Snafu, if possible, scooted in even closer to Eugene's side; Eugene took a sip of coffee and then handed the cup off to him, exchanging it for what remained of his cigarette. He looked over at Bill, at his hands wrapped around the mug.  
"Can you feel them?" He asked, a little hesitant. Bill lifted an arm, turned it back and forth.   
"No," he said, short. "Feels the same. But I dunno, if they've always been there, then they wouldn't feel any different, right? Or if they've been, hell, growing over time or something, maybe I just never noticed."  
Snafu leaned over. "Let's see 'em again, Leyden."  
"Jesus, Snafu," Eugene said, but Bill actually smiled a bit, the faintest echo of his cocky grin. He turned his hand palm down, and three long claws slid out between his knuckles, each one more than half a foot long, slightly curved, and slightly bloodied from where they had pushed through flesh. Snafu whistled.  
"You always been a brawler, boy, but those are something else."  
"Goddamn weird is what they are," Bill said. "I can't even tell if they're bone or not." He rapped them lightly against his tin cup, then retracted them, the skin of his knuckles closing up over the gashes they had made.  
"They saved our asses," Eugene said. "It's anyone's guess what might of happened if you hadn't killed that thing when you did."  
"Alright, alright," Bill said gruffly. "I know I'm fucking impressive, you can let up already." But his grin was back, his eyes less distant. Eugene took the coffee back from Snafu and they sat together in a less desperate silence and stared at the bunker, barely visible through the dark and the rain. Eugene thought about the mutant they'd fought, about how his eyes had actually seemed to come more alive after Bill stabbed his claws through the back of his skull. It made his stomach suck in with a sick sort of dread, made his head pound from the heavy pressure of unanswered questions.   
"The Japs did something to him," he said. It had to be said. "If they're doing it, then it's happening in other places too." Snafu grunted.  
"It's a sure thing." His voice was dark, bitter. "No telling how many of our kind are being fucked around with. Hell, it's probably happening back home too, we already know they ain't above using us to better their odds."  
"What gives with that metal they put in him?" Bill said. "It wasn't steel. Wasn't like anything I've ever seen before."  
"That's the first question to start the whole ball of shit rolling," a voice said behind them, and they turned to see Captain Jones walking up, face grim, truly grim this time and not just his usual serious expression. "Stronger than steel, designed so flawlessly? Our people are going to have quite the time trying to figure out what it is, and then trying to replicate it." He crouched down beside Bill, joined them in staring at the bunker. "I swear, if I could I'd bury that damn body and pray for that to be the end of it. But the whole company's been buzzing about it, there's no way to keep it quiet. We'll have to turn it over, and then," he bit off on his own words, mouth twisted tight.  
"And then what?" Eugene asked, the roil of fears gathering and bunching in his chest and throat.  
"Then," Jones said, stark and plain, "then I'm complicit in whatever they decide to do with what they learn. What they'll make of it, who they'll use." He shook his head sharply, looked over at them. "You fix it all hard and true in your heads. Don't write it down, don't let yourselves forget. And when you get home, you tell it all to your Haldane, you understand me? If he's half the man you boys have described to me, then maybe he'll have some idea of what to do to stop it. Protect folk." He didn't wait for them to answer, just stood back up and walked away, leaving the three of them stunned and staring at one another.  
Eugene couldn't leave the questions alone, even as the fighting continued on, brutal, each day stretching longer and darker than the last. Jones was right, if their own side hadn't already started experimenting on mutants, they soon would. There was no chance they wouldn't see all the possibilities once they realized what the Japs had managed to create. How many more mutants were out there right now, ripping their way across battlefields, torn away from their humanity? How many countless more were in the same straits as the five of them, sucked into a war by forces beyond their control? And how different did that make them, really, from the rest of the men fighting and dying out here, far away from home? And if they did make it home, what would they be returning as?   
Bill had bounced back from their encounter in the bunker, as brash and unflinching as he had always been. Jay hadn't. He remained listless, dull. Eugene knew it wasn't the bunker that had done it, but everything that had come before, culminating in the night Jay had killed that mutant woman. The bunker had just seemed to finish the job. He stayed sharp enough in a fight, but was withdrawn and near silent the rest of the time. Burgie watched him carefully, and Snafu and Bill tried to draw him out, but it soon became clear that the only thing that might help Jay was getting him off Peleliu. So Eugene threw himself into the fight; the sooner they rooted the Japs out, the sooner they could leave. They'd been pushing south in small increments for nearly two weeks when new orders came down. Jones made his way among the company, talking to the men in small groups, giving them the details. He came to the five of them last of all, joining them as they hunkered down around their chow. Snafu offered him a smoke and he accepted, sucking hard on the cigarette before he spoke.  
"2nd Battalion's been trying to take a ridge near 140," he said, referring to a key high point recently wrested from the Japs. "They've managed to cut them off, isolate them. We're being sent in to relieve them and take the ridge."  
"Straightforward enough," Burgie said, but Jones shook his head.  
"It's anything but. They've got a mutant up there, one that our side's taken an interest in. They want him retrieved alive."  
"S'not happening," Snafu said, after a moment of surprised silence. "Ain't no Nip gonna let himself be taken alive, mutant or not."  
"What do they want him for?" Eugene asked.   
"What do you think they want him for?" Bill said angrily. "They've just barely got their hands on that goddamn corpse and now they want to start playing around with a toy of their own."  
"Better a Jap than one of us," Jay said, emotionless. Eugene felt a chill run through him.  
"Cut the chatter," Jones snapped out. "We've got our orders. Burgin, I expect to see you and Haney in my tent in fifteen. We're relieving 2nd Battalion tomorrow."  
Eugene didn't sleep that night. Instead he lay beside Snafu and thought intently, worked his way methodically down all the different paths. He thought about how the Jap in the bunker had greeted him, he wished he'd been able to better understand him. Maybe it would have ended differently if they had been able to speak to each other. Maybe it didn't matter or mean anything at all. He thought about what Jones had said, about choosing your battles, about what they were complicit in by allowing a thing to come to pass.  
It was frightening, how easily overcome most human obstacles were. Eugene couldn't keep that terrible thought from his mind as he made his way up the steep ridge the next day, tossing aside the large slabs of rock that tumbled into their path, shrugging off the hot sting of bullets. Given full permission, encouraged even, to take the ridge and the mutant by any means necessary, Jones had opted to hit quick and hard, had told the five of them to not hold back. So any rock that Eugene missed was swiftly destroyed by Burgie, and the Japs could scarcely see to shoot at them with the blinding attack that Jay was keeping up on them. Down below, scattered out among what scant cover they could find, Jones and the rest of the company were doing their part to keep up suppressive fire, draw their attention. The biggest problem was the violent shifting of the earth that made keeping their feet arduous, made the climb up the ridge treacherous and slow. They had the mutant to thank for that, and for the cascade of rocks that fell endlessly towards them. It was no wonder they wanted him brought in alive, the amount of destruction that could be accomplished by a mutant powerful enough to shake the very earth apart was staggering to think about. But it was like Jones had said, when he had stood in their tent that first day on Pavuvu. The Japs didn't have anything like them. They continued climbing.  
The final climb was roughly fifteen feet of nearly vertical rock. Burgie, Jay and Snafu pressed themselves down small against the side of the rock wall, and Eugene and Bill started to climb. Eugene wasn't naturally gifted like Bill in that sort of thing, he clambered his way up by digging his fingers straight into the rock face. He slung himself through the fortified cave opening, the Japs shouting as they fell back, shooting wildly at him. There were only four of them and it was easy to tell which one was the mutant; he wasn't armed and was barely more than a kid. Eugene yanked one in close by the end of his gun, cracked his neck and let him drop. He turned the gun around and shot the other two as Bill slid in after him and dropped down.   
"That's it," he said after a moment. "We're clear." They both turned and looked at the mutant, cowering in the back of the small, stinking space, visibly terrified. "Jesus. This is the one dropping all those damn rocks?"  
"That's him," Eugene answered, feeling his heart drop like a stone into the pit of his stomach. He raised a hand, pulled up what remained of Masao. " _Heiwa, heiwa_." The boy didn't calm at all, but he did lower his arms from around his head and stare up at them. Eugene smiled at him gently, felt it crack inside of him. He couldn't be older than eighteen, if he was even that. "Go let Burgie know we got him," he said to Bill. "I'll bring him along." Bill grunted and slipped back out the cave mouth, leaving the two of them alone.  
Eugene dropped the gun and raised both his hands up towards the mutant. He approached slowly and the Jap watched him, unfolding, still scared, but something other than fear working its way into his expression. Curiosity, or hope. He spoke, a long string of words that Eugene didn't understand, lifting up at the end. A question. Eugene shook his head, tried to think of what to say as he moved in closer, knelt down in front of him. " _Sukoshi hanashite_."  
The mutant, the boy, nodded hesitantly, gestured towards himself. "I am, also," he said, carefully slow. Eugene felt it like a blow, felt the tears gather and burn behind his eyes. They were the same, that was the truth of it. Neither of them had any real choices. He nodded jerkily, reached out.  
"What you doing, Sledgehammer?" Eugene's head snapped to the side, he saw Snafu standing in front of the cave's entrance. His eyes were fixed, searching.   
"Snafu," he said, and his voice shook, gave him away. He looked back at the mutant, who was staring back and forth between them now, fear rising back up. "We can't help him, and I can't hand him over to them. What else can I do?"  
"Not that," Snafu said. "You don't want to do that."  
Eugene stared into the boy's face, his eyes alive, all the thought and feeling moving in them. He felt the tears start to fall, saw how the sight of them scared him even more. "No, I don't," he said in agreement. "Of course I don't." He lifted his hand again.  
The shot, loud and echoing in the enclosed space, shocked him more than the sight of the boy's face tearing open, blood bursting out. The body fell, Eugene spun back around as Snafu lowered his sidearm. His eyes were wild, but when they snapped back to Eugene something else came into them, something like hate. "There," he said, voice loaded up with loathing. "Easy." He turned away, moving stiff and strange.  
"Snafu," Eugene said, but he didn't stop, disappearing back through the opening. Eugene heard Burgie's raised voice, wanting to know what the shot was, heard Snafu answer back, short, some baldly obvious lie about the mutant resisting them. He looked down at the body, a crumpled, empty thing. He pulled his gloves off and turned him over, stared down at what remained of his face. He laid his palm along the top of his head, closed his eyes and tried to pray.  
Burgie was waiting for him when he climbed down a moment later, gloves back on, the mutant's limp body slung over his shoulder. His jaw was clenched, his face white with anger. "I don't know what the hell just happened," he ground out. "But you're playing with lives, goddamn it, our own included." Snafu wouldn't look at him. Bill and Jay were watching him with different shades of disbelief. Eugene stared helplessly into Burgie's red lenses, incapable of hiding any of the misery he was drowning in. "Fuck!" Burgie said, looking away. "Let's go, we gotta get back to the skipper."  
They passed marines on the way back down, moving up to claim the ridge, establish artillery and start scouting out the next series of hills and peaks. They watched them with bleak eyes, Eugene supposed it was fairly obvious from the body he was carrying that their mission had been only partially successful. Burgie stopped one of them. "Where can we find the captain, Holmes? Need to report in."  
Holmes stopped reluctantly, eyes sliding away and back again. He was a decent enough sort, not overly friendly but willing to talk with them. "Hate to be the one to tell you boys," he muttered. "But a sniper got the skipper."  
"Captain Jones?" Jay burst out, more intensity in the two words than Eugene had heard from him in weeks.  
"Clipped him in the side of the head. They've already taken him back to Battalion. He was still alive, talking even, but it didn't look good." He looked at the body, head lolling at the level of Eugene's waist. "Gunny's down there, trying to get things straightened out, you should report in to him." They watched him move on, stared at each other, loss sweeping in. Snafu looked at Eugene, then back away again.  
"Did you see Haney's face?" Jay said later, much later, as they sat side by side on top of a rock. It was Jay's watch, but Eugene had joined him, unable to sleep with Snafu turned so deliberately away from him, his back and shoulder set all rigid.  
"I saw him," Eugene said, not wanting to think about it. How red his eyes had been, cigarette dangling unlit and forgotten from the corner of his mouth. He'd looked old, bent low with confused grief.   
"Haney is the old breed. If a guy like that breaks," Jay trailed off, and Eugene didn't look at him. He was afraid to look at him. It was a relief to hear him speak of his own volition, it was terrifying to be the one he'd decided to speak to. "And Captain Jones is dead."  
"We don't know that," Eugene said, although really, what were the chances that he was still alive?  
"And you killed that mutant." Eugene looked at him at that, he couldn't help himself. Jay was hugging his gun to his chest, staring out at the black. "I don't care. It was the right thing to do. I shouldn't have said that, before, about how I'd rather it happen to one of them than us." His mouth turned down, quivered. "Do you think Haldane knew it would be like this, when he sent us over?"  
"Jay," Eugene said, but Jay continued on, voice picking up a little strength.  
"Cause, if he had any idea, and he sent us over here anyway, then," he faltered, and Eugene watched him start to shake. "Then I fucking hate him," he said, voice falling away again. "I hate him. I came to him for help, you know? I needed his help." Eugene watched tears make tracks through the dirt on his cheeks, watched him drop his gun and hunch over on himself.   
"Hey," he said, sitting forward, hesitating. He gave in, wrapped an arm around Jay's curled up shoulders and pulled him in close. "Hey, you're okay. You're okay, you'll be okay." He settled his gloved hand along the back of his neck and Jay reached up and latched on to his arm, held on tight. The sobs were wracking all through him, and all Eugene could do was hold him and make promises he couldn't keep.  
The next handful of days passed in a blur of unhappiness for him, for all of them. They were being slowly rotated out, turning the fight over to the Infantry. The Japs still held a pocket in the central hills, but it was just a matter of time before they burned them out. Jay didn't speak to anyone, Burgie barely spoke too. Snafu still wouldn't talk to Eugene, scarcely looked at him. Eugene was surprised by how much he missed him, missed how he stood close and touched him easily, casually. How he fixed his eyes on him and didn't look away. It was like having something warm and solid ripped out from under him, and now he was wrong-footed, muddling through.  
Eventually, finally, Eugene found himself being loaded back onto a boat. He leaned against the rail and watched Peleliu disappear. After everything they'd done to it, it seemed a marvel that the island still existed at all. He wondered if it would ever be beautiful again, the way it must have once been. He wondered if anything could ever recover from all those terrible deeds.   
Haney came up beside him, handed him a smoke and lit it for him. Eugene muttered his gratitude, and the two of them stood there together, looking back. After a moment Haney held out a hand, held something out to Eugene. His lighter, with the division's insignia on the side. Countless nights Eugene had watched him pull it from his pocket, watched him flick the flame to life and rub a thumb once along the '1' emblazoned in red, a little purposeful rite unique to Haney. "Keep it," he said now, and there was something in his eyes as he said it, and Eugene realized in that moment that Haney was done.   
"Thanks," he said mechanically, reaching out and taking it. He ran his thumb along the red, felt the weight of a tradition continued. They stood together and smoked as the deck slowly emptied out and became quieter. Haney made to go, after, but Eugene stopped him with a gesture, pulled out two more cigarettes. Haney grunted and leaned back against the rail. They turned by silent agreement so that they were facing in now, watching the deck. "You've gotta take Jay with you, when you go," Eugene said.  
"Can't," Haney said gruffly. "It's easy to get in, near impossible to get out. Thought you'd have figured that out by now."  
"You're going," Eugene said, and Haney snorted. He knew it was a wasted line of arguing, Haney could go where he wanted because he'd served his time and then some, had given nearly the whole of his life to the marines. Jay was a mutant, and had only been serving for a handful of months. Jay was his friend, Jay was falling apart one broken piece at a time. "Don't give me any excuses," he said angrily, he didn't have a leg to stand on but he had to try. "You can get him out, I know you can. He's gotta go home, Haney."  
"Boy," Haney started, voice harsh and hard, the way Eugene was used to him sounding, strange comfort. Eugene cut him off.  
"Please, Gunny. He needs to get back to Haldane, same as you." He knew he'd said the right thing when Haney's face set in angry lines, when his lips tightened but his eyes slid away, lost. He stuck his cigarette back in his mouth and didn't speak until it was gone, until he flicked the end away.  
"I can't take him with me," he said finally. "But I'll get him out. It might take some time." Eugene breathed out, he hadn't realized he'd been holding his breath, and slumped back against the rail of the ship.  
"Thank you," he said, and Haney scowled and looked away. "Gunny. Thank you for everything." Haney looked back at him then, and Eugene smiled at him. "It'll be nice, being able to think of you back home."  
"Well," Haney said, and then couldn't seem to think of anything else to say. Eugene looked away, back out to sea. It was beautiful, he realized, surprised. The whole sky was banded pink and violet, shots of yellow streaking through, and the sea caught it all and made it move. "They've got Jones in the sick-bay," Haney said, and Eugene looked back at him.   
"They do?" Haney nodded. "I didn't even know if," Eugene trailed off, started again. "He's gonna be alright?" Haney stared at him, stark and sorrowful and refusing to tell a lie. Eugene felt that little flame of hope flicker, sputter out.


	10. Chapter 10

Jones was nearly unrecognizable. It wasn't his injury, that was all hidden away behind a cast and bandages. It was everything else, his face below the wrapping drawn and white, how spindly thin he looked stretched out on the cot. He'd always held himself arrow-straight, had moved with energy and purpose. Eugene stood and looked down at him, clasped his gloved hands together and wondered if he should speak to him, if it would help. What could he even say?  
The corpsman hadn't wanted to let Eugene see him, but if Eugene had learned anything from his mother it was how to be politely tenacious. That, and it was clear the man had been frightened of him. He had edged away from him like Eugene might reach out at any moment and crack him like a twig, drain him dry. He supposed they were becoming a little infamous.   
It had been near impossible to get any information out of him, but the corpsman eventually told Eugene that Jones had been going back and forth between periods of lucidity and delirium. He'd also said it was miraculous, that Jones was still alive at all. The bullet had gone in above his right eye and back out above his right temple, and he'd somehow survived it, never lost consciousness, had insisted that he wasn't in much pain.   
"It's been nearly a week now," Eugene had said. "Why wouldn't he survive?"  
"He's still in the thick of it," the corpsman answered. "Infection and swelling are the immediate dangers. Even if we're able to control those, there's no telling with an injury this severe. Sometimes the person just lets go."  
"Not Captain Jones," Eugene said stoutly, but the corpsman had just shrugged and led him back.  
Eugene wondered what Haldane would have to say, about how large a part a person's own will played in living after suffering something like this. Haldane believed that mastery of the mind made all things possible, but then, it was the skipper's actual, physical mind that had been damaged. What would Haldane make of that?  
What would Haldane make of it?  
It was impossible. Haldane was half a world away. Even if he was standing right here beside him, there wasn't anything he could do to fix the damage that had been done to Jones. But there was fixing, and there was healing. Eugene looked around nervously, then closed his eyes. It wouldn't work. They were too far apart, he wouldn't be able to reach him. He had to.   
_Andy,_ he thought, trying to empty his head of everything but his name. _Andy, Haldane_. He waited a moment, but didn't feel anything, the familiar light brush of his powerful mind. He frowned, mentally screamed it out, he didn't think that sort of thing made a difference but he didn't know what else to try. _Haldane! Haldane, Haldane, please._  
Nothing. Eugene gritted his teeth, shook his head. He wasn't giving up, he wasn't ready to give up.  
_Florence. Flo, can you hear me?_ They'd always had an easier connection, and Haldane had been saying from the beginning that she had the potential to be just as powerful a telepath as he was. _Flo. Flo, Florence Risely!_ He waited a moment, was getting ready to try again, when,   
_Eugene?_ He felt her, an arm winding through his, felt her swift joy at their link, quickly replaced by fear, ratcheting up. _What is it? Oh God, is it Romus? What's happened?_  
_He's fine, Burgie's fine._ Eugene rolled on before she could ask him anything else, felt her pulling him in tighter. _I need Andy, I need his help._ Haldane was there before he even finished the thought, sweeping in, a strong warm wind.   
_What's wrong, Eugene?_ Eugene latched on to him, shoved it all at him, a slew of thoughts and images. He felt Haldane pull away, Eugene had never been very receptive to close mental communication with him in the past, had felt intimidated by the prospect, and now here he was throwing nearly the whole of himself at Haldane, into him. The forbearance was momentary, and then Haldane delved in, started parsing through it all. Eugene was pulled along in his wake, seeing what Haldane saw. Jones standing in their tent, welcoming them as marines to his company. Candid, idealistic. Propping his foot up on the tank, leaning down, gun held loose in his hand. Bold, a touch reckless. Listening with a furrowed brow and a tight expression as Eugene told him about Oswalt, clapping him on the shoulder and offering him a smoke. Perceptive, levelheaded. And now, reduced, the white-blue heat that defined him doused. _Someone worth knowing._ The sudden pang that shot through him at a chance missed made Eugene stiffen, pull back. Somewhere along the way Haldane's thoughts had subsumed his own, he hadn't even realized that they had been Haldane's own observations and feelings until he'd felt that unexpected shot of sharp disappointment. Haldane let him go, gave him back his own thoughts. _I'm sorry,_ he said. _I truly am._   
_Can't you do anything to help him? He's still alive, he's still here._ He felt Haldane wavering on the edge of a decision.  
_I can't repair the physical damage he's taken. But I believe I could help him. But I won't force it on him if he's unwilling. The corpsman was correct, sometimes people choose to let go._ He went on, not waiting for Eugene's agreement. _Touch him. It will make it easier for me to find my way._  
He'd been staring sightlessly down at Jones all the while. Now he knelt next to the cot, glancing cautiously around as he did so. They weren't alone, far from it, but most of the men were sleeping or knocked out, and anyways the only thing they would have seen was a dirty marine standing beside his injured captain. Surely that wasn't so strange. Eugene reached out, clasped Jones' hand in both of his. Haldane didn't hesitate, and Eugene suddenly felt like he was tipping forward, falling in. He stumbled and tried to catch himself, and Haldane steadied him with a hand on his arm.  
They were standing side by side in a small crowd of people. The folk were all murmuring to one another, no, they were all singing, some old gospel song, low and melodic. Eugene pulled nervously away from them, looked over at Haldane. He smiled at him, warm. "Hello Eugene," he said.  
The rush of relief and affection that welled up in him at the sound of Haldane's voice, at the sight of his kind eyes, had Eugene sagging against him momentarily. Haldane held on to him, held him up, and Eugene fought against the urge to throw even more at him, tell him everything, how horrible it all had been, his concerns for Jay and his increasing fear of what might be happening to their own kind in secret, locked away places all across the world. The growing, blooming thing between Snafu and himself and how he'd damaged it. He felt Haldane's hand tighten and knew he was already picking up on some of it. He straightened back up, pulled his reeling thoughts back. They weren't here for that, they were here for Jones. "I'm sorry," he muttered as Haldane let go of his arm.  
"I should be apologizing to you," Haldane said, and Eugene looked back up at him. His mouth was set, he looked distressed in a way that Eugene had never seen before. "But a true apology will have to wait until you boys are safely back home." His voice was certain, firm. Eugene felt something in him steady. Haldane believed they would all come back home, and so he would believe it too. To think how he'd used to enjoy the thought of maybe dying out here, some sort of conclusive atonement. But a handful of weeks in hell had shown him so many terrible, precious things, worth fighting for, worth living in service of. Eugene tried to push that thought at him, and Haldane glanced over at him, a little surprised. His mouth stayed grimly set, but he smiled with his eyes in that way of his. "Eugene," he said gravely. "Thank you." He looked away after a moment, scanned the small crowd of people. "He's this way," he said, and started making his way through.  
It was a creek baptism, Eugene realized, as he followed after Haldane. The gathered folk were singing as they stood along the bank waiting to be welcomed into the water. Their voices melded together in a natural harmony, united by long familiarity with one another, by a common purpose, a shared joy. And there was the skipper, standing among them, as slim and straight as always, his hair longer here, all disordered curls. He wasn't singing along with the rest. He was staring down at something in his hands, a guitar of all things. His expression was serious, a little confused, more than a little angry. Eugene watched as he reached down, deliberately plucked a string. The note rang out, discordant.  
"Edward?" Haldane said, and Jones looked up at him, frown growing more fierce. "Ah. Eddie. I'm Andrew Haldane."  
"Haldane," Jones said, brow furrowing, eyes bright and focused. They narrowed in recognition. "Haldane, yeah. You're the fellow the boys are always going on about." He changed as he spoke, hair shifting suddenly shorter, the rough clothing he had been wearing morphing into his service uniform, clean and neatly pressed. He didn't seem to see Eugene.  
"I suppose I am," Haldane said, shooting a look over his shoulder at him. It was both an acknowledgement and a dismissal. A last warm brush, and then Eugene was suddenly being pulled back, or they were somehow moving away from him. Haldane's voice became more distant, harder to pick out. "I was hoping to speak with you, perhaps someplace a little more quiet. You have a spot nearby that you're fond of, isn't that right?"  
"That's right," Jones replied, startled, and then Florence took Eugene's hand and drew him away. They were standing in front of the door on Haldane's estate, between the two columns that marked the entrance. Florence stood on the tips of her toes and kissed Eugene on the cheek. Eugene leaned into it, the warmth of her hand, the soft brush of her lips. It had been so long, and the deep affection in the gesture was enough to bring a sting to his eyes.  
"You're going to exhaust yourself," she scolded. "I wish we could talk more, but neither of us are strong enough to keep this sort of thing up." She squeezed his bare hand gently. "Give my love to Romus, to all of them."  
"We miss you," Eugene said, and Florence smiled sadly, and the house folded down around him and he was back on the ship, kneeling beside Jones. He looked the same, but Eugene didn't suppose he would miraculously look different just because Haldane was with him. Was he still there? Time could go strangely when Haldane got involved, it was possible he had already come and gone. Eugene tried to stand up and promptly fell down as a horrible pain in his head made itself known. It felt like an iron band was wrapped around his skull, was tightening. Eugene bit back on a groan and collapsed back along the cot, then slid down to the floor. Christ it hurt, all he could do was close his eyes against the misery of it, try to find refuge in darkness.  
"Sledge."  
Eugene blinked awake, head still pounding, but a manageable pain now. He wasn't sure how long he had been passed out, but had the feeling he had more than overstayed his allowed time in sick bay. Then he realized who had spoken, and sat up with a start, jerked around.  
Captain Jones was staring at him, still too pale, eyes feverish bright. "Tell me who he is," he grated out. He sounded furious. Eugene frowned, confused.  
"Andrew Haldane," he answered. "He introduced himself, do you remember?"  
"You were there?" Jones said, eyes growing impossibly more intense.   
"Only for a moment. He needed a way to reach you. I can't really explain how it works, I guess you could say I bridged the gap between the two of you." The outrage in the man's face didn't fade, and Eugene cleared his throat nervously. "How. How are you feeling?"  
"Who the hell is he?" Jones snapped, and Eugene glanced around. They must have been in the small hours of the morning, the room still and low lit. No one stirred at the skipper's angry tone, and Eugene looked back at him, thought carefully over how to respond. Haldane wouldn't have done a thing to him without his permission, but then, it was one thing to go along with something while lost in a fever dream, and another to reflect back on it upon waking.  
"He's just a person," he answered eventually, softly. "Like you and me." Jones didn't say anything and so he continued. "He's powerful, but that's not what's at the core of him. He's," he trailed off, tried to think of what to say. "He takes his coffee black, but he actually prefers tea. He likes it strong, balances it out with milk. He spends a lot of his time reading, writing, conversing. He used to play sports. I always got the feeling he missed being more active. He's never said it, but I think he views it as something he's had to give up, so he could devote himself to more important things." Jones was still staring intently, but it was in that familiar way of his. "He's got a quiet sense of humor, he's quiet in general, but he's not the retiring sort. He likes people. He keeps himself neatly, but in a distracted kind of way. He's always a little rumpled, always has a few days worth of hair on his face."  
"He didn't have any when we were talking," Jones said, thoughtful, and looked away, up towards the ceiling. "Looked neat as a pin." Eugene didn't say anything, just watched as his brow gradually unfurrowed, as his gaze started to wander. He looked suddenly exhausted, drained, what little energy he'd had all used up. "He told me he was up in Massachusetts. I didn't know that, they never told me where they found you boys." His words were starting to slur, his eyes drifted shut. "He said I should come by and see him." That was surprising, Eugene started to speak but stopped himself, sat quietly and watched him drift off. He felt that same flicker of hope catch again in his chest. Nothing was certain, could ever be certain, but if anyone could turn impossible odds it was Haldane. Captain Jones would live.  
Just a few hours later they were back on Pavuvu. Nearly the entire company lingered on the port after they were shuffled off the boat, watched solemnly as they unloaded the skipper and moved him onto the waiting hospital ship. He wasn't awake, didn't see any of them, but they saluted anyway, didn't move on until he disappeared from sight. Afterwards Eugene followed along as they made their way back to camp and dropped off their gear. A group of the boys were heading down to the beach, and the five of them trailed after. Something had shifted again between them and the rest of the company. Maybe it was losing Captain Jones, maybe it was what had happened at the bunker. Whatever it was, they had warmed back up to them a bit, acted like it was expected that they would come along with them to wash Peleliu away.  
Eugene sat on the beach and watched them out in the water and tried not to think on how much he'd like to join them. He watched Snafu start to strip out of his clothes, lean brown limbs, and had to turn away. Maybe it would have been different if things were normal between them, if Snafu was still looking at him with that mocking smirk, if he was fucking looking at him at all. But he wasn't, and it felt wrong to watch him when he knew his gaze wasn't wanted. So he stared hard down at nothing until they were all in the water, until he was alone. He pulled his gloves off then, and then his boots, dug his bare feet into the sand. He focused on that for a bit, absorbed the sensations, then stripped off his khaki shirt. He started to throw it on top of his boots, then stopped, held it in his bare hands and looked down at it.  
He'd lost count of how many uniforms he'd ruined while on Peleliu. He hadn't bothered to count the number of times he'd been shot. After that first one, the shock of it, running through the scrub as they made their way off the beach, it hadn't really mattered. It was what he was here for, after all. To keep them covered, absorb the blows for them. But Snafu wouldn't let him, or wouldn't let him do it easily at least. The way he'd grabbed on to him that first time, while they were huddled down in the trench, eyes wide and intense like he actually thought Eugene might be hurt. Nearly getting into a fight with a fellow marine, following him into the bunker. And now this. Killing a damn kid so that Eugene couldn't. The stupid injustice of it rose up and choked him. He got up and walked away, further along the beach, leaving his discarded clothing behind him. He'd come back for it later.  
He stopped eventually, when he could no longer hear the boys shouting and laughing. He found a shaded spot beneath a coconut tree, the sand in its shadow soft and cool, sat down and leaned his back up against it. He was tired, physically tired, and tired of himself, of being so goddamn morose. He tilted his head back and stared up at the tree, its large leaves shooting out star-like, the fruit growing bunched around the center. It was a strange tree, one that he'd like to learn more about. He'd have to make a note in his bible to research them more when he got home. He drifted off to the thought, to the sound of waves breaking on the shore.  
When he woke again it was dark, the last bits of light just visible out over the water, fading fast. He leaned forward, groggy, rubbed his eyes. He should get back, Burgie would be worried, it was hours since he'd gone off on his own. Then again, what did it really matter, at this point? He stood up and shrugged out of his clothes, walked down into the black water. It was blessedly cool, potently briny. His feet alternated moving over soft smooth sand and large rocks. He waded out until he was chest deep, then dunked himself, vigorously scrubbed himself down with handfuls of sand, worked his fingers through his hair. Once he'd scoured it all away, he dropped backwards against the water, floating on his back and looking up at the sky, the massive sprawl of stars. Most days he was able to convince himself that it was a good thing Sid wasn't out here. But this, Sid would have loved this. To float out in the dark, secure in the strength of his own body, to look up at all that glory, removed, untouched. He missed him. He was with him in a sense, his thoughts and feelings, the whole of his psyche, all kept securely behind a carefully tended wall somewhere in his own head. But that would never come close to what it was like to actually talk to him, know him as a separate person.  
"I'm sorry," he said, to the vast black above him, to the wall in his mind. He heard Sid laugh, warm and easy, felt the water move as he shifted his limbs, floating beside him.  
"When are you gonna say something new to me?"  
"I'm so sorry," Eugene tried, and Sid harrumphed. Eugene didn't turn to look at him, knew that he wasn't there, not really. He wouldn't be speaking to him like this if he was really there, like they were still best friends, like Eugene hadn't ruined it all.  
"You don't know a damn thing about any of it," Sid said, sounding fed up now. "You've been too stubborn scared to try and know."  
It was the truth, so Eugene didn't bother denying it. "Isn't this beautiful?" He said instead, still staring up.  
"Yeah," Sid sighed after a moment. "Makes you step back and think." They floated side by side in silence, and when Eugene finally glanced over to look at him, Sid was gone. He swam back to shore, pulled his trousers and work shirt back on, started walking back down the beach to retrieve the rest of his clothes. Burgie was going to strip his hide.  
He realized Snafu was there before he actually saw him, tipped off by the smell of cigarette smoke, the shiver along his skin that told him he wasn't alone. There was just enough light to make out his shape as he drew closer, sitting on the sand, leaning an arm on his own propped up knee, head thrown back as he smoked. Eugene stopped a little distance away.  
"What are you doing here?" It came out more hostile than he'd meant it to.  
"Knew you'd be back for these." Snafu reached a hand over, lifted Eugene's abandoned shirt up to show him, and then dropped it again. It wasn't an answer, but Eugene bit his tongue and came up to him, pulled his gloves and shirt back on. He left the boots where they were, sat down on the other side of them, a little barrier of leather and stink between the two of them.   
They sat in tense silence for several minutes. Eugene stared out towards the water and contemplated whether or not he should just take what he was given and not push it. Snafu was here, he had waited for him. It was the closest thing to forgiveness that Eugene would probably get. But he didn't want to be forgiven, he wanted, he wanted...  
"I spoke to Andy," he said. Snafu turned his head and looked at him. "Flo, too. I didn't know if it would work, but I just kept calling them and eventually they heard me." He shrugged. "He helped the skipper, I don't know how exactly." Snafu grunted.  
"Don't tell Burgie," he said darkly. "Our nights will get real fucking troublesome, if he starts spending time with Flo in his bunk." Eugene gave a little laugh, and they fell back into a slightly easier silence.  
"We've got to draw a line somewhere, in all of this," Eugene said eventually, slowly. He felt Snafu stiffen beside him, kept his gaze carefully focused away. He thought about Haney and the conversation they'd had, close to a year ago now. "We're here for a reason, we gotta keep our focus on that. Can't get distracted by," he felt himself flushing unexpectedly, was overwhelmingly thankful for the dark. "By things that might make us hesitate in the moment."  
"Things," Snafu drawled, mean, mocking. He didn't speak for a moment, then, "Hesitate to do what? Go throwing yourself into buildings alone? Into fucking bunkers? Hesitate to murder a Jap after he's surrendered?"  
"Yes," Eugene replied, trying to keep his voice steady, trying to keep the hurt and anger pressed down tight. "That's what I'm supposed to be doing, Snafu. Protecting you, all of you. It doesn't go the other way, I don't need it." He heard Snafu's teeth click together, could practically feel him grinding down.   
"You do," he said finally, quiet and low. Eugene felt the fury rise up then, abandoned trying to control it.  
"I don't," he snapped out. "You shouldn't have done that, you shouldn't have shot him. It was my decision. I'm tired of you trying to take on shit for me."  
"What, I'm supposed to watch you snap some kid's neck so you can keep on hating yourself?" Eugene flinched, it was painful, to have something so secret dragged out and thrown down like a gauntlet between them. "Told you before, it's not gonna happen."  
"And you think it's easier for me to have you take it on instead?" Eugene hated how he couldn't keep his voice even, hated how damn shaky he sounded, but he kept on. "Jesus, you've barely looked at me since it happened."  
"So that's where the line is, huh?" Snafu said, and Eugene was startled by the open misery in his voice. "We're good as long as I'm just fucking around, keeping it light, is that right? But trying to really, trying to," he stumbled, stopped himself. "It ain't even," he finally said, and didn't speak again.  
Eugene could barely talk around the knot of pain that had wrapped itself hard and clenching around his heart. "It won't ever be even, Snafu. I can't give you." His voice cracked. "We won't ever have more than what we got right now, don't you get that? I'm never gonna be able to touch you. And as long as we're fighting for Haldane, I'm always going to be the one taking the hits. That's what I am, that's all I can give you." He clamped his fists hard together, pulled in around himself, maybe this was it, maybe this was when he would finally see that there wasn't anything for them to build on. He felt it like an electric shock all through him when Snafu reached over and wrapped his fingers around his arm, when he maneuvered easily over the boots and slid himself straight into Eugene's lap. He grabbed onto Eugene's other arm with his free hand; Eugene's own hands lifted uselessly into the air in shock, then settled, almost against his will, along the side of Snafu's knees. He gaped up at him, he couldn't make out the details of his expression in the dimness, but he could see the sideways twist of his lips, the glint of his eyes.  
"You don't even know," Snafu muttered, and the low drawl of his voice worked its way hot all through Eugene. He leaned in close, too close, Eugene could feel the warmth radiating off his skin, could smell him, salt and smoke. "What you're already giving me. What you could give me."  
He should lean back, he should push him away. "I don't understand what you want," he said, holding himself still, barely breathing. Snafu ran his hands slowly up and down his arms; the pressure and heat of his touch nearly made Eugene groan aloud.   
"Want you to trust me," he said gruffly. "Want you to let me take care of you. Sure, I'd like to fuck you," and his casual coarseness had Eugene rigid beneath him. "Christ. I'd let you do whatever the hell you wanted to me. But that's all shit, against this."  
This. What was it, what was this? Eugene had a word he could put to it, but that was too damn terrifying to contemplate, look at. He knew what he should say, what the smart thing was to say. _This won't work, you won't be satisfied with this for long._ But he couldn't. His hands slid up, along Snafu's thighs, over the bones of his hips, on to his waist. Eugene mapped him, his shape, the feel of him, as well as he could through his gloves and Snafu's clothing. "Mer," he said, lost and drowning in yearning, equally painful and sweet. Snafu's arms came around him, Eugene tugged him in closer. They held on to each other tightly, carefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is it too early for an Ack Ack/Hillbilly tag? Probably, but I was too excited to resist!


	11. Chapter 11

"You gotta be kidding me." Jay threw his cards down on the upturned crate they were using as a table. He glared at Bill, and then at the rest of them as they snickered. "I'm out, I'm done." Bill just grinned and grabbed his winnings: cigarettes and the last of the chocolates that Florence had sent them.   
"You got a tell, boy," Snafu said, fanning the cards in his hand open and closed. "Leyden's on to you."  
"Don't listen to him De L'Eau, your face is as straight as they come," Bill said.  
"What, you're gonna say it's all luck?" Jay said sarcastically.  
"Nah." Bill lit one of his newly acquired smokes and thumbed his nose. "I can smell it when you bluff."  
"Bullshit," Jay said after a second's pause. Bill just kept grinning. "You haven't called any of Snafu's."  
"Fucker smells so ripe, I can't make out anything else," Bill said and Snafu leaned back and propped his admittedly filthy feet up on the crate.  
"Keep talking, Bill Leyden, it's all you'll be able to afford soon enough." They fell into squabbling and Eugene stopped paying attention, resumed watching out the door, keeping an eye out. It was a mostly empty gesture, these days. The men were more at ease with them, some of them had grown outright friendly, and the ones who still disliked them knew exactly what they were capable of, kept their distance. But it was an established habit now, and one Burgie thought it best they continue.  
Haney had rotated back scarcely a week after their return from Peleliu. The five of them had gone down to the port to see him off. They weren't the only ones, Haney had won the loyalty of more than a few men with his way of gruffly guiding them along, his unflinching courage. Haney said goodbye to them all, shaking hands, frowning hard. He came up to the five of them last, looked them over with flinty blue eyes.  
"Write us when you get back to Haldane's," Eugene said.   
"I'll do no such goddamn thing," Haney replied. Eugene fought against a smile.  
"That's alright, Haldane will let us know when you've made it back." Haney just grunted and glared at them.  
"You boys keep your fucking edge on, you understand?"   
"We will," Burgie assured him. Haney shouldered his sea bag, looked them over one final time, then gave them a nod and started making his way towards the ship. They watched him go and didn't speak, but Eugene knew they were all thinking it. First Jones, and now Haney. They only had each other.  
"Hey, stovepipe boys!" Eugene turned with the rest of them towards the voice. They weren't really mortar men of course, but the other marines still addressed them that way at times, and they had gotten used to responding to it. Eugene was startled to see Reed approaching them, hand half lifted in greeting. He'd steered clear of them ever since he and Snafu had nearly come to blows that day on Peleliu. Now he walked up to them with a determined air and a nervous expression that he didn't quite manage to hide. "Got a second?"  
"Time's just about all we've got," Jay answered, and Reed gave a little laugh.  
"That's the truth." He glanced at Snafu, then looked over at Eugene. "I wanted to let you know, I got a letter from Turner." Eugene felt himself go tense, felt relief and shame rise up and settle along the inside of his ribs, ready to grab at him. "He woke up a couple weeks ago. He doesn't remember anything that happened that night."  
"Probably for the best," Burgie said after a moment. Reed nodded.  
"Anyways, he's alive. I thought maybe you'd like to know." He glanced at Eugene again.  
"Thank you," Eugene said. "I'm glad he's awake." He thought about Sid despite himself, fought back the wave of bitterness.   
Reed shifted his weight back and forth. "I also wanted to say, well." He tugged at the neckline of his shirt, slid his gaze away and back again. "A couple of us get together nearly every night to shoot craps. You boys should stop by some time, try your luck."  
A surprised silence ballooned out around his words. Eugene glanced over at Snafu; he was giving Reed that unwavering stare that unnerved so many of the men, but there wasn't any heat or contempt in it, just speculation. "That's real decent of you, Reed," Burgie said finally. "We just might." Reed nodded and walked off and the five of them stared at one another and made their way back to their tent.  
They eventually felt comfortable enough to start rolling the sides of their tent up, let in some light, a bit of rare breeze. Before Peleliu, the constant dim closeness hadn't been enough to win out over their need to escape from all the hateful, suspicious stares. Now those hard looks had started to fade away, and they began moving around the camp with something like ease. When, just a bit ago, Burgie had been summoned to Command Post, he'd thrown his cards down and gestured to Eugene to keep his seat. "Stay and keep an eye on these idiots Sledgehammer, I'll be right back." Eugene hadn't protested, had leaned back on the rough frame and watched the card game more than he did the area outside their tent. He didn't think twice about it until he saw Burgie walking back, saw the expression on his face. He sat up sharply, glanced around quick for something out of the ordinary, but didn't notice anything. But Burgie looked rattled, openly distressed. He was walking fast back to the tent, hands fisted against his hips as he went. His mouth was working like he wanted to spit, his shoulders were bunched tight.  
"What is it?" Snafu said, and Eugene looked over to see him staring at him, all three of them staring at him. He didn't answer, just stepped over and started rolling the sides of the tent back down. "Gene."  
"Something's happened," Eugene answered, moving on to the other side of the tent as Burgie pushed in through the doorway, made straight for his bunk and sat down, hands curling tense and white-knuckled along the edge of it. They stared at him, Eugene standing, the other three still gathered around their forgotten card game. Burgie breathed in and out through his nose, shook his head.  
"Gonna tell us what's going on?" Snafu finally said. Burgie looked up at them with a clenched jaw.  
"I'm being promoted." His voice was flat, his face hard, the layers of his anger hidden away behind his red glasses.   
"What?" Eugene burst out.   
"They're promoting me to sergeant. Putting me in charge of our mortar section."  
"Promoting you from what?" Bill said, incredulous. "We're nothing, they never gave us a rank. Are they gonna start paying you?"  
"They're trying to separate us," Jay said with stony certainty.  
"Or maybe they're just seeing less of a reason to hide the fact that we're here," Eugene said. As the war dragged on and became more desperate, the stories about mutants on the battlefield grew more outrageous, more difficult to believe. But Eugene believed them. He had seen enough on one small island in the Pacific to think there was a kernel of truth in every appalling rumor he heard. There was one going around that claimed Romania had been taken with the help of a creature encased in steel, another that an entire squadron of British bombers had been destroyed in the air by a single mutant.   
"We can't know what their reasons are," Burgie said, voice becoming a little more normal. "We just gotta think out what it means for us."  
"It means you're a real marine," Eugene said. "You're serving openly as a mutant, and they just made you an NCO." Burgie stared down at the ground, but his jaw loosened a bit.  
"Haldane would call that some kind of a win," he acknowledged. "They've been leaving themselves a back door to push us out of, but that's closed now." It helped, to keep their real purpose in mind, to remind themselves that they were the opening salvo in Haldane's campaign for mutant acceptance. It wasn't the front Haldane would have chosen to start on, but it was what they had.  
"Closed for you," Jay said bitterly. "The rest of us are still barely here. We could disappear tomorrow and where's the proof that we ever served?"  
"I'm the proof," Burgie said quietly. He nodded to himself, stood up. "I got a voice now, for better of worse. They couldn't try anything to the four of you without me taking it up the chain, legitimate or otherwise."  
"But really, c'mon," Bill said. "Are you getting paid for this shit now?" Burgie's lip twitched and he shoved Leyden in the shoulder as he sat back down in front of the crate.  
"Won't matter to you, Bill, you're not gonna see a damn dime of it," he said coolly. "Who's dealing?"  
It wasn't much of a change, Burgie being promoted to sergeant. He had some extra duties around camp, and all five of them ended up spending more time with the other mortar men in their section, but all in all things stayed the same. He still shared their tent, he still ordered them about in the same shepherding manner he always did. But it was strange, seeing the insignia added to his service uniform, seeing him recognized. It made Eugene equal parts envious and hopeful, made him think about Sid and wonder what he might have accomplished, made of himself, if he was over here, the way it should have been. The regret still followed after the thought, but there was a different twinge to it these days, guilty pleasure threading its way through the shame. Because he couldn't claim to be happy, but he wasn't miserable. Not when he and Snafu slept with their bunks pushed a few scant inches apart, not when they had resumed their old habit of smoking together in the evenings, sitting close enough to draw a few speculative glances. Eugene was surprised by how little the looks bothered him, and Snafu scarcely seemed to notice them, much less care.  
Even now, two marines walking by eyed them uncertainly, watching as Snafu leaned into Eugene's space, his cigarette held up between them for Eugene to light. He kept his eyes fixed on Eugene all the while, mouth quirked up in a pleased little smirk. Eugene lit it for him, watched him breathe in, shift the cigarette to the side with his lips and blow a long slow stream of smoke back out. The man was an enticement, the most maddening of snares. Snafu's eyes darkened and his smile edged over towards indecency, as if he knew exactly what Eugene was thinking, the slow spin of lust and gratification that he was caught in. "Careful there," he murmured. "You keep watching me like that and I can't be blamed for what I might do."  
"What would that be?" Eugene asked, not looking away. "Get yourself put into a coma?"  
"Might be worth it." Eugene scoffed at that and leaned back a little, got to work lighting his pipe. "Merde. Chances are I'd have some goddamn stimulating dreams." Eugene focused on not reacting, puffed slowly on his pipe, letting the flavor of the smoke roll its way through his mouth. Snafu made an appreciative noise in his throat and pressed his knee against Eugene's thigh. "Wonder if Haldane knew what you'd be doing to me when he sent you that fucking pipe."  
"I don't think even Andy can predict the strange things you choose to fixate on," Eugene replied, trying to ignore the curling heat that worked its way low through his stomach at Snafu's words. He pulled the pipe out of his mouth and stared at it. "He had the right idea though. I like it, it's nice to have something to keep my hands occupied."  
"I can think of all kinds of pastimes for you to keep your hands occupied with," Snafu said, hooking his bare foot around the back of Eugene's stockinged heel. "Don't need no pipe." Eugene pressed down on the urge to smile.   
"Do you ever let up?" He said, careful to keep the pleasure from his voice as Snafu pressed his toe in against his ankle and started rubbing a slow circle around the bone. Christ, how was it possible that all these small touches fed him like this, tormented and satiated him?  
"Just say the word, Sledgehammer," Snafu answered, low, self-assured. Damn him. Eugene stuck his pipe back in his mouth, closed his eyes and didn't speak. Snafu chuckled and didn't stop. They sat and smoked in silence for a bit, letting the sounds of the camp wash over them. The other boys were all elsewhere, but it was getting late and Eugene supposed they only had a few minutes more until they started showing back up. He opened his eyes, looked over at Snafu. He was still watching him, cigarette held loosely between two crooked fingers. "Should go away with me some place, when we get back," he said, as if he had just been waiting for Eugene to look at him to speak.   
"Getting a little ahead of yourself," Eugene said. "It's gonna be a long while 'til we get back home." Snafu didn't answer, just kept staring at him. "Where would you like to go?"  
"Don't care. Just want to get you alone, really alone." Snafu's eyes unfocused and he took a long pull of his cigarette. "Some place warm. You like to fish?" Eugene looked down at his pipe, embarrassed.   
"Not really. I like the idea of it, sitting out and taking it slow. But I always feel guilty about the fish." Snafu laughed and Eugene glared at him.  
"S'alright. I'll take you back home, out on the bayou. I'll fish, and you can protect me from gators."  
Eugene took a moment to answer, startled and trying to hide it. Snafu had never voluntarily brought up his home before, always changed the subject or just plain clammed up whenever Eugene had tried to ask him anything about his past. Eugene had figured out early on that his life before he came to Haldane's was off-limits. "Where's home?" He finally said, voice mild, but he knew his hands fidgeting with his pipe were giving him away.  
"North Louisiana," Snafu said now, easily, like it wasn't anything at all. "Red River. Got run outta town, but that was a long time ago." He flicked the butt of his cigarette away and Eugene made a noise of annoyance and moved to retrieve it. He dropped it in the metal bowl he kept for that purpose and dumped the contents of his pipe in with it. Snafu continued on while he set to cleaning his pipe. "'Sides, folk are easy to avoid on the bayou. My daddy taught me all the tricks."  
"He still down there?" Eugene asked. He looked up at Snafu and saw the answer on his face, in his eyes. "Got any family still down there?"  
"No," Snafu said, short. "They're all dead, or scattered." His hands were twitching like he needed another smoke, needed something to do. Eugene wanted to hold them. "It was no good there. Everyone was poor as dirt, getting more furious desperate each day. Closer to going hungry, closer to breaking. You find out you got a family of mutants living under your nose and hell, it's obvious what comes next." His voice had grown progressively darker, angrier, as he went along. Eugene thought back to that day Snafu had followed him to his room, sat on his bed. _You ever see someone die?_ He moved in closer, until their hips and shoulders were pressed together. Snafu resisted for a moment, then leaned against him.   
"I want to hear it," he said quietly. "Whatever you wanna tell me."  
"Been trying to get past it," Snafu said, looking out at the camp, at nothing. "Move on. Haldane says," he cut himself off, gave a little laugh. "I had it all planned, if you can believe that. Heard about some rich idiot up north looking to take in mutants with abilities like mine. Figured I'd hide up there for a bit, lick my wounds and get some food in me. Then I was gonna head back down there and kill them, all of them. Now look at me." He glanced over at him and Eugene stared back, didn't look away.  
"I am," he said softly. He knew he was being given something precious, truth sharp as a knife, trust that he wouldn't turn the blade back against him. Snafu was watching him now with that devouring gaze of his. "I see you. Merriell." He wrapped his gloved hand around Snafu's wrist, needing to touch him. The camp was quieting down around them and anyways he didn't care who saw, they could all go to hell. Snafu made a broken off sort of noise somewhere in his chest and sagged against him a little more.  
That night Eugene lay beside Snafu and listened to him breathe. Out of all the things they seemed to be sharing these days, this was perhaps the one that Eugene valued most. Laying close to Snafu in the dark, being trusted, choosing to trust. It was funny to think that it had all started with them sharing holes and taking turns on watches. Before Peleliu, their bunks had been on opposite sides of the tent. That first night after returning to Pavuvu, Snafu had unceremoniously dumped Bill's possessions to the floor and claimed his bunk for himself, shoved it up close to Eugene's.  
He would miss it, when this thing between them ended, as it inevitably would. The day was coming when Snafu would have to admit that he wanted more, deserved more, than this half-relationship. Eugene imagined him laying in the dark next to someone else, touching or not touching, free to choose. Would they still be friends at least, would Eugene be able to stand that? He clenched his jaw against the pain and resentment, forced himself to breathe deeply until they subsided. That pain was coming, but it wasn't here yet. He had tonight, he had this moment. He tried to focus on that thought, let it grow, got so caught up trying to shove out everything else that when the hand reached down towards him he lifted his own without thinking, let her pull him up.  
He stood up, pushing his way through a bramble of roses that caught at his clothing but didn't prick, and Florence clung tight to his hand, helping him free. They were standing in the rose garden back home on the estate, the scent of their blooms hanging heavy in the air around them. Florence wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug, face pressed against his shoulder, and Eugene hugged her back. "Sorry," she said, her voice muffled. "I hope it wasn't too jarring. I've never really managed anything like this before." She pulled back and looked him over, expression oddly upset. "How'd I do? How do you feel?"  
"A little confused," Eugene said with a helpless laugh. "What's going on? Is everything alright?"  
"No," Florence cried, and Eugene pulled back with surprise when sudden tears welled up in her eyes. "I've been trying to get through to Rom, but he's all walled up. It didn't seem possible for him to not be aware that I was trying to get through, but I convinced myself that it was because I wasn't doing something right. But then I reached out for you, and you turned right around and reached back, like it was the most natural thing in the world, and so he must have known, he knows and he's not letting me in." She kept pressing her knuckles against her eyes, like a little pressure could stem the flow of tears, but they just grew heavier. Eugene put a hesitant hand on her arm, rubbed it soothingly. "Is he alright?" She asked, voice a wobble, eyes red.  
"Yeah, he's," Eugene cleared his throat, thoughts skittering. "He's fine." Burgie had reacted strangely, looking back on it, when Eugene had related to him how he'd managed to reach Florence and Haldane. Of course, Burgie was far from demonstrative on most occasions, but he had barely reacted at all when Eugene had told him, had just nodded thoughtfully and turned away. Eugene tried not to think about it, afraid Florence might pick up on it. He cast about for something to say. "He's been tired lately, they've been keeping his busy with-"  
"Don't make excuses for him!" Florence snapped, spinning away, and then back again. "Oh, it's not even important."  
"Of course it is, Flo," Eugene stuttered. "I'm sorry, I wasn't trying to-" She lifted her hands, waved him off.  
"No, I mean, that isn't the reason why I reached out to you. I've got a message, from Haldane." She looped her arm through Eugene's and he let her tug him along through the garden. She sniffled a bit, but spoke evenly, calmly. "Haney got back a couple weeks ago. He and Haldane locked themselves away in the study for hours." She looked up at Eugene, gave him a small grin, looking a little more lively, more herself. "I didn't eavesdrop or anything, even though I wanted to desperately. Haney came out eventually but Andy stayed there all night. I found out the next day that he was mind hopping. I don't know how many different people he visited, or how he managed to dig out all the information that he did, but when he came out of his study the next morning he was exhausted, and furious." She shook her head. "I've never seen Andy like that before, really, truly angry. Anyways, the three of us sat down and talked about everything he found out, and I've been trying to reach you ever since."  
"Why didn't Haldane try?" Eugene glanced towards the house; it was all happening in his mind, or maybe Florence's mind, but he wondered if he walked inside and into Haldane's study if the man would be sitting there waiting for him. And would it be Haldane, or just their combined thoughts and memories of him? Florence's eyes followed his gaze, she shook her head gently.  
"Don't try that," she said. "He might feel you trying to pull him in, but he won't come." They stopped walking and she turned in to face him. "He's so powerful, you know? What he could do to all of us, if he wanted to, honestly it's terrifying. But he keeps it controlled, almost chained. But recently he's been so tired, and worried and angry. He won't talk to anyone in that way until he feels calmer, more balanced. Not anyone he cares about, at least."  
"Is he alright?" It had been nearly three months since he'd spoken to him, on the ship back to Pavuvu. The idea of Haldane struggling with his own emotions was almost beyond imagining.  
"He will be," she answered. "It's just hard, to accept what people are capable of doing to each other. I think some of the things that Haney told him about what you boys have been through hurt him more than he was expecting. And the things he learned when he," she trailed off, laughed ruefully, reached out and took his hand. "Just like old times, isn't it? Off we go, talking about everything except the one thing I'm supposed to be telling you." She straightened her shoulders, looked Eugene in the eye. "Andy discovered that they're interested in you and Bill."  
"What do you mean, interested?" Eugene said, as cold ice crept its way up his spine.  
"I mean, they have the intent, and maybe even tentative plans, to get their hands on one or both of you and not let you go." Florence's gray eyes were wide, unblinking. "They want to make it look natural, some logical reason why you might be separated from the others. You obviously pose several problems as far as being easily taken goes, so Andy's especially worried about Bill. He thinks they'll wait until you're back in combat, where they'll have more believable opportunities. His message is, don't let them separate either of you, under any circumstances."  
Oh God, it was his fault. Bill was stronger and faster than a human, a natural fighter, he wouldn't be taken easily. But if they hurt him enough, did enough damage to him, it could happen, they could overpower him and he would just disappear. Eugene reeled back, pressing the heels of his hands hard against his temples. He should have brought that Jap in alive like they'd been ordered to, maybe that would have satisfied them, kept them from turning their greedy goddamn eyes on him and his friends. What were they planning on doing to Bill? Would they twist him up until he turned into something like that creature from the bunker, all his natural grit and pluck contorted around on itself until -   
Florence's hands came up, pulled his own down away from his face. She was the stronger one, here. "Eugene," she said, her voice was so calm, how was she so calm? "Listen to me, look at me." He looked wildly down at her, only half noticing how the roses all around them seemed to be seeping color, like paint running off a canvas. "He's going to be fine." She said it with quiet conviction. "Andy won't let it happen, do you understand? You won't let it happen."  
Eugene breathed deep, steadied himself. "No, I won't," he said, fury and fear making the words tremble with feeling. _I'll kill them if they try it_. Florence frowned but didn't say anything, just held his hands and waited. "How's Haney?" Eugene asked, suddenly missing him, his hard voice and the assurance it had come to mean to him. Florence smiled softly.  
"He's doing well, now that he's back with us, where he belongs. He wasn't planning on coming back, you know." Eugene blinked, startled, and she nodded. "He didn't tell me, but it was right there on the surface, he thinks about you boys a lot. He was just going to disappear, find some lonely little place and bury himself there. But you changed his mind."  
"Me?" Eugene asked blankly. "I don't understand, he never said anything."   
"You just assumed he would come back here, acted like it was natural that he would. I think he resisted for a while, took some time for himself, but then he came home, like he should have from the first. It was what he really wanted to do anyways, he just couldn't admit it." Eugene shook his head, baffled, and Florence laughed up at him. "Don't rack your head over it," she said. "He's fine, and you were a part of it, that's all." Eugene looked down at their linked hands, Florence's soft and warm in his own. He set his thumbs against her palms, squeezed gently.  
"How are you?" He asked, watching her carefully. Florence's mouth turned down, then back up, both expressions equally sincere.  
"I'm alright, really. I'm sorry for snapping at you before. It's nothing compared to what you've been going through, but it can be hard, being the one left behind." She sighed. "I need to let go now, I've already held on to you longer than I should. You'll tell them Haldane's message, right away?"  
"Yes," Eugene assured her. "Goodbye, Flo."  
"Bye, Eugene," she said, and let go of his hands. It was like she had been anchoring him, and once she let him go he started to drift, Florence and the flowers becoming indistinct, losing their vibrancy. He turned away, and nearly rolled himself off his bunk, dropping a hand quickly down to the floor to catch himself. He raised his other hand to his head automatically, braced for the same overpowering headache that he'd suffered through last time, but it never came. He sat up and reached unerringly for his gloves, pulled them on in two quick, practiced motions and turned around to where Snafu was sleeping.   
"Hey," he said, gently, he couldn't bring himself to be anything other than gentle with him, not after the conversation they'd had just a few hours ago. "Snafu." He gave a disgruntled groan and rolled away, and Eugene gave in to an urge of his and ran his fingers through his hair. Snafu gave a different sort of groan and pressed his head back against Eugene's hand. Eugene leaned down and breathed him in, heated stone, a scent that belonged only to Snafu. He gathered up a handful of hair and gave it a little tug, eliciting another low groan. "Wake up," he murmured. "It's important."  
"Fuck," Snafu said, voice rough from sleep. "Don't stop."  
"Jesus fucking Christ," Jay said blearily from his bunk. "You two have gotta give it a rest, it's the middle of the damn night."  
"Take that shit to the beach," Bill added from further back in the tent.   
Snafu sat up on his bunk and started rummaging around in the dark. "The fuck are my sandals?" He mumbled, and Eugene snorted, felt himself start to flush.   
"We're not going to the beach, Snafu," he said, pitching his voice a little louder. "We need to talk, all of us. It's important. Bill, can you get the light?" Snafu collapsed back on his bunk and Eugene waited for Bill to turn the wick on the lamp, until he could see Jay propping himself up on an elbow, Burgie sitting up in his bunk. "I just talked to Flo," he said, carefully not looking at Burgie. "She has a message from Haldane."


	12. Chapter 12

"Are my eyes yellow?" Merriell asked, looking back and forth between the small bit of mirror he'd managed to get his hands on and Eugene, laying on the bunk next to him with his face turned away.   
"Why would your eyes be yellow?" Eugene asked flatly. Merriell didn't need to see him to know his fed up expression.  
"Come on, your old man's a doctor. Look at my eyes." They looked a touch yellow to Merriell, but maybe it was the mirror, or the shit that passed for food around here. What he wouldn't give for some fucking flavor, his ma's gumbo or Haldane's clam chowder.  
"Give it a rest, Snafu," Eugene said wearily, but he sat up and shifted around to face him, turned Merriell towards him with a gloved hand on his knee. He leaned in and stared intently into Merriell's eyes and Merriell stared back.  
"Seriously, I'm getting that yellow jaundice that's been going around, I know it. The heebie jeebies." They weren't all as lucky as Bill and Eugene after all, who never got sick, hell, it probably wasn't even possible for the two of them to get sick. Merriell hated being laid up.  
"It's hepatitis and you don't have it," Eugene said with open annoyance, leaning back. He had unbuttoned his shirt in concession to the heat, the skin of his chest and stomach pale, slightly damp with sweat. Merriell imagined swiping his tongue along the warm, salty length of his torso.  
"I'll catch a fever then turn inside out through my asshole like Carson in Love Company." He was just trying to get a rise out of him now. Something was bothering him. Eugene cast him a frustrated glance and looked away. "Hey." He reached out, carefully grabbed on to the edges of Eugene's shirt with both hands, gave a tug. Eugene didn't lean back in, but he did turn and look at him. "C'mon darling. You go off to brush your teeth and come back all snarled up."   
"Saw them cleaning out the skipper's tent," Eugene said after a moment. He reached down and grabbed the paperback that he'd walked in with. Merriell had noticed, but hadn't thought anything of it. Eugene borrowed books from the other marines where he could, the boy liked to read. He opened the front cover and turned it around so Merriell could see the 'Edward Jones' written in bold, slanted penmanship across the first page. "They were just gonna throw it away." It looked a bit like trash to Merriell, weathered, the pages bent and rumpled, but he kept the thought to himself.  
"Absalom, what's that?" He asked, looking at the title. "Why they gotta say it twice?" Eugene ignored him, thumbing through the pages of the book instead.  
"He's not dead," he said, a little angrily. "Just seems like they should return it to him. It's obvious he's carried it around with him for a long time, read it more than once. The man gave years of his life to the Marines, and they throw his possessions away like," he broke off, rapped the book against his open palm. "I'm gonna hold on to it," he said decisively. "Return it to him when we get back home."  
How'd he get to be so goddamn perfect? How did Merriell get so goddamn lucky? It was that combination of sweetness and sureness that marked Eugene, made him unlike anyone else Merriell had ever met. It got him every time, punched right through and then wrapped warm around him. "Eugene," he said, pulling again, and this time Eugene let himself be pulled, coming back to him with the book still clasped in his hands. Merriell felt like he could claw his way out of his own skin, he was so frustrated, wanting to tell him, show him. But he didn't have the words, couldn't touch him the way he wanted. He gripped him by the collar of his shirt instead, and Eugene stared at him piercing and soft, straight into him. "I'm dying."  
Motion at the entrance to their tent made him look over, drop his hands. Jay was standing there, looking back and forth between them with a strange expression. Merriell felt suddenly embarrassed, exposed. It was one thing to be seen flirting with the boy, flustering him, it was a whole other thing to get caught being fucking sincere, needy and desperate. He got up, moving around Eugene. "Check out my eyes, Jay. They look yellow?"  
Jay stared at him blankly. "I'm being discharged," he said, quiet and toneless. He stepped past Merriell and into the tent, sat down heavily on his bunk. He was holding a slip of paper in his hands.  
"What?" Eugene said. There was something off about the way he said it, a second too late, a touch too surprised. Merriell glanced over at him, then went to stand in front of Jay, taking the paper from his loose grip.   
"General discharge," he read aloud, picking out the key words. "Convenience of the government. The hell does that even mean?" Jay was nibbling on the nail of his thumb, knee bumping up and down. Merriell watched the emptiness leave his eyes, watched furious tears rise up instead. He threw out a hand and a spark of light shot out, zinged across the tent and knocked over a wooden stand. Eugene made a noise of surprise and moved to pick it up as Jay burst to life.  
"How the hell can they do this to me?" He near yelled. "I've done every goddamn thing they've asked, and they think they can get rid of me like this, send me back home and leave the four of you here? I won't go." He ran a shaking hand through his hair, looked around the tent wildly.  
"Don't seem to be a thing you got a say in," Merriell said bluntly. Jay gave an almost hysterical laugh in reply, opened and closed his hands into fists.  
"Don't you want to go back?" Eugene asked cautiously from where he was kneeling on the floor. "Get out of here?"  
"Not like this," Jay answered. The fury was draining out of him, leaving something despairing behind. "I can't leave you guys, we're supposed to stick together, Haldane said, Haldane," he trailed off, dropped his face into his hands. Merriell looked over at Eugene, was surprised by the open guilt on his face.  
"Maybe it's Haldane's doing," Eugene said hesitantly. "Or Haney's." Jay lifted his head from his hands and looked over at him, his disbelief plain. Eugene cleared his throat as he stood up. "Florence said that Andy had uncovered a lot of upsetting information. Maybe he needs your help, needs you back home."  
"Man's probably trying to get us out," Merriell said, going along with it. "One at a time, and you're just the lucky son of a bitch that gets to go home first."  
"He should have contacted me," Jay muttered, dull again. "I have the right to say yes or no, he shouldn't just," he broke off, stood up. "I'm going for a walk," he said, not looking at them, and ducked out the door. Eugene watched him go, then crossed over to his bunk and picked up the slip of paper, reading it carefully.   
"Sledgehammer," Merriell said, and he looked over at him, expression guilty again. "What'd you do?"   
Eugene didn't look away. "The right thing," he said quietly. "I hate that its hurt him like this, but I know it was still the right thing to do."  
There he went again, sure and sweet. Merriell wasn't so confident it was the right thing, but hell, he couldn't deny that he'd been worried about De L'Eau, he hadn't ever seemed to really come back from Peleliu. He'd lost all his nervy energy, the part of himself that always seemed to be laughing a little at the world around him. "You're shit at hiding anything on that fine face of yours," he said. "Cringing at every word he said, how you think you're gonna make it 'til he actually ships out?"  
"I don't know," Eugene said. "Hope he leaves soon, I guess." His mouth pulled flat and he looked down, unhappy. Merriell bumped their shoulders together.  
As it turned out, it only took a handful of days, and then they were back on the port, saying their goodbyes. Jay was all closed off, surly and morose. Eugene was silent, Bill was talking too damn much. Merriell sucked on his cigarette and tried to think of something to say.  
"Hey Burge," he said. "You remember the day De L'Eau showed up at Haldane's?"  
"I do," Burgie said. "Walked in smirking and didn't stop."  
"Annoyed the shit outta me," Merriell said. "Some West Coast boy rolling in on our spot, bold as fucking brass." It wasn't a lie, wasn't even a stretch of the truth. Merriell and Burgie had been at Haldane's for over a year by the time Jay showed up, and Merriell was not interested in sharing, Haldane or Burgie or anything else.  
"You two were such assholes," Jay muttered, lips twitching. "Especially you, Snafu."  
"You know, I really wanted to hate him," Merriell said, ignoring Jay. "But the boy was too goddamn entertaining." Burgie's mouth split into a grin, open and easy, rare to see.  
"That time he got drunk and started firing shit off in the middle of town?"  
"That night we went out dancing and he got himself slapped three times," Merriell threw in.  
"You're one to talk about getting slapped," Jay cut in, but Burgie talked over him.  
"The time we tried to have us a crab boil and Jay went and shit his-"  
"Alright, Jesus!" Jay said, smiling now. "I could give the same to the two of you if you ever shut the hell up."  
"You have some kind of point you were wanting to make, Snafu?" Burgie asked, grin settling down into its typical straight line.  
"Nah," Merriell said. He reached over and shoved his palm against the side of Jay's head. "Just wanted to mention what a trial it's been, having him around."  
Jay huffed, and then threw his arms around Merriell and Burgie's shoulders, knocked their heads together. "I can't stand you fuckers," he said. They held on for a moment, and then Jay pulled loose, turned to say goodbye to Bill and Eugene.  
"Send me some cigars, yeah?" Bill said. "I need something with a little kick."  
"Make sure and write us," Eugene said. "I'll be writing you." Jay assured them that he would do both, then shouldered his sea bag and stood staring at them.  
"Hell, you guys," he said, and his voice shook, just a bit. "I don't know what to say."  
"You say that you'll take care of yourself," Burgie said, soft-voiced. "And then we say that we'll see you soon." Jay nodded jerkily.  
"I will," he said. His dark eyes were big with shattered feeling.  
"See you soon, De L'Eau," Merriell said. Bill and Eugene echoed him. Jay nodded again, then turned and made for the ship. The four of them watched him go, shifted closer together, but it wasn't any use. The empty spot remained.  
Merriell hadn't realized how unsettling it would be, not having Jay around. Maybe he should have, the man had been a constant for the last five years of his life, after all. Merriell couldn't quite make sense of it, but Leyden was suddenly more irritating, Burgie more overbearing. Even Eugene seemed stiffer, uncertain. But then, maybe it was less to do with Jay being gone and more to do with the fact that the entire camp was gearing up for the next battle. Okinawa. They'd been sent off a handful of times for war maneuvers, and now they were all just waiting on the final word to come down. Mostly Merriell tried not to think about it.  
"What'll it take to get you to play some bridge with us, Burge," he said one day, sitting across a crate from Leyden, shuffling the deck idly. That was another problem with Jay being gone, Bill was the only one left to readily agree to a game of cards. The two of them had played so many games of heads up Merriell could just about spit.  
"You need four players for bridge, Snafu," Burgie said, not looking up from cleaning his rifle.  
"So if we convince Sledge to play, you're in," Bill said. Burgie looked over at where Eugene was laying stretched out on his bunk, dozing.  
"Sure," he said. "If Snafu can stand to wake him up, and then manages to convince him to play, I'm in." The tone of his voice let them know what he thought the odds were of that happening.  
"What, you think I've gone soft?" Merriell said with a snort. He twisted around and settled a hand on Eugene's side, secretly pleasing himself by feeling along his ribcage. He gave him a hard shake. "Get up, Sledge, need you for a game of bridge." Eugene didn't answer, just turned his face away, his long lips pulling down. Merriell leaned in closer, shoving his arm out of the way so that he could slide his hand over and settle it on his stomach. "You can be my partner," he murmured close to his ear. "I'll sit in your lap."  
"Christ, no," Bill groaned. "We're separating the two of you, Gene'll play on my side." Eugene was sitting up sluggishly, waving Merriell away.  
"Give me a second," he said. He stood up, wavered. Then he fell down, straight forward, crashing into the crate and lying prone on the ground between them.  
"What the fuck?" Bill said, and Burgie set his gun aside and stood up, and Merriell felt a jolt of shock and concern move through him. He tried to push it away, tried to keep his tone light as he moved to help Eugene back up.   
"All you gotta say is no, cher, no reason to-" he broke off when Eugene turned himself over, when he saw the stream of bright blood making its way down the side of his face. "Eugene," he said, sharp, but Eugene just shook his head, dazed. "Burgie," Merriell said, starting to panic, starting to come apart. He reached out to try and move his hair aside, see where the blood was coming from, but Burgie's voice cracked sharp across the tent at him.  
"Don't touch him." He was standing over them, stone-faced. "Use your goddamn head, Snafu. Get him up, back in his bunk."  
"Need to get him to the aid station," Merriell said.  
"Absolutely not." Merriell glared up at him, and Burgie clenched his jaw, stood considering for a second. "Let's go, Bill," he said. "I'll distract them somehow, you lift some supplies. Keep your head on straight, Snafu." He and Bill disappeared out the tent and Merriell helped Eugene up, helped him back to his cot. The fear only grew when Eugene leaned heavily against him, when he collapsed back in his bunk and raised a hand up to his head, pulled it back and frowned at the blood on his gloved fingertips.  
"When's the last time I," he started to say wonderingly, then stopped. "Am I sick?" He asked instead.  
"Don't know," Merriell said, forcing the words out past something stuck all in his throat. He turned away, rifled through Eugene's clothing until he found another pair of gloves and pulled them on. He felt a little queer, like he might be dreaming. The gloves fit strangely, were too restrictive. He turned back to Eugene and pushed his hair around. There was a decent sized gash there, an inch or so long, starting at his hairline and traveling up. He probed it gently and Eugene made a pained sound and tried to pull back from him. He was watching him, sharp dark eyes.  
"What do you suppose it means?" He asked with barely suppressed dread. Merriell pulled the gloves off and dropped them to the floor. He touched Eugene's hair gingerly, it was thick and smooth, catching against the roughness of his hands.  
"Don't know," he said again. Eugene closed his eyes, mouth pulling down in distress, and Merriell took his hand with his free one, wound their fingers together.  
Bill and Burgie returned maybe fifteen minutes later, and Merriell got up, moved out of the way as Burgie pulled on gloves and Bill started emptying his pockets of pilfered supplies. Burgie tilted Eugene's head so he could get a closer look, and Merriell saw his lips press flat when he found the wound. "Let's see how this goes," he said, voice calm. "Gonna need you to hold still, Sledge." Merriell looked away, he knew it was ridiculous, shit, he'd seen Eugene shot and worse, but he somehow couldn't bear to look. "Needle's going through," Burgie said, and Merriell and Bill looked grimly at one another.  
"Jesus," Eugene said, voice strangled. Merriell turned back, he couldn't help it. He rotated around the bunk and dropped down on the other side. Eugene's eyes slid over to him, he lifted his hand and Merriell latched on to it. Eugene's jaw tightened but he didn't speak again, just kept his eyes locked on Merriell.   
"I can't promise that it'll be pretty," Burgie said. "But it's not the first time I've had to stitch up a wound. First time I've done it for anything other than cattle, though."  
"That's comforting," Eugene said dryly. His lips pulled back in something between a grimace and a smile. They fell into a tense silence after that, Bill going back and forth between watching the entrance and hovering over Burgie's shoulder, until finally Burgie leaned in and bit the thread off.  
"We ain't bandaging it," he said, dropping the needle on a nearby shelf and reaching for the small amount of gauze Bill had managed to get a hold of. "It'd be too obvious. We'll just have to hope your hair will cover it." He pressed gently at the stitches and Eugene's eyes slipped shut. He had relaxed as soon as Burgie finished, his hand dropping suddenly limp in Merriell's grasp.  
"I feel weak," he muttered, words blurring together. "Is this how it felt before?"  
"Before what?" Burgie asked.  
"Before I took it all from Sid," Eugene said, and then his head fell to the side. Merriell pushed his face in close, didn't take a breath of his own until he felt Eugene's flutter gently against his face.  
"Passed out," he said, dropping Eugene's hand onto the bunk. Burgie peeled off his gloves and motioned with his head for them to leave the tent. The three of them stepped outside into glaring sunlight and Merriell pulled out his pack of smokes, passed them around. Even Burgie took one, held it between his fingers and stared at it. They watched the camp move around them, loud and bustling, unaware of the monumental events happening under their noses.  
"If he can be hurt now," Burgie said, and shook his head. "We gotta try and keep it quiet. They'd switch their attention to him, no doubt about it." Merriell glared out at nothing, trying to take it in. If Eugene was no longer nearly invulnerable or super-humanly strong, he would be the obvious target, far easier to overpower, to control, than Bill would ever be. He thought about how much Eugene hated his abilities, tried to imagine the different things he could be forced to use them for. It made him feel sick, made his chest clench.   
"How the hell are we going to hide it?" Bill said incredulously. Burgie's jaw worked and he dug his fingers into the sides of his nose.  
"I don't know," he said flatly. "I gotta think about it, try and work out how we'll manage it."  
"And who the hell is Sid?" Bill said, barely letting Burgie finish speaking before jumping on to the next question. Burgie shrugged and shook his head.  
"Friend of his, from back in Alabama," Merriell said reluctantly. It didn't feel right, sharing Eugene's business, but he didn't see how he could keep it to himself at this point. Bill and Burgie turned and looked at him. "Been in a coma for years. He's what's behind Gene's strength, reflexes. It was an accident." He clamped his teeth together, feeling stupidly defensive, stared hard at them, daring them to say something critical.  
"So it all came from someone else," Burgie said. "I always wondered."  
"Maybe he's just sick," Bill said doubtfully. "Maybe it's just temporary."  
"We'll just have to wait and see," Burgie said, and turned and went back into the tent. Merriell and Bill eyed each other, then stood shoulder to shoulder in front of the entrance, finished their smokes and followed him in.  
Merriell stayed beside Eugene's bunk the rest of the day and all through the night. Burgie and Bill stuck close, only leaving for short stints and hurrying back as quick as they could, but it didn't matter, Eugene stayed asleep. He didn't have a fever as far as they could tell, but he slept like he did, alternating between fitful and deeply still. Early that next morning, in the predawn hours when the camp was at its most quiet, he started muttering to himself, low and indistinct. Merriell shifted closer to him, put a hand on his shoulder. He saw Burgie lifting his head up from his bunk, Bill turning in from where he had been sitting in the doorway.  
Eugene threw a hand out, a thrashing motion. "Not going," Merriell thought he heard him say.  
He ran his hand along Eugene's shoulder. "You're dreaming, Sledge."  
"You can't go," Eugene said. "Sid." His voice was clearer now, the words distinct. Merriell felt it rise up in him, useless jealousy, an idiotic need to be the only thing Eugene held close. Merde, he was a fool. He felt his shoulders hunch, fought to keep the scowl from his face, to shove all that aside.   
"C'mon, wake up," he said gruffly, giving Eugene's shoulder a firm squeeze. He leaned his mouth in close to his ear. "Sledgehammer."  
Eugene's eyes flew open, he stared ahead wildly, then turned and looked at him. "Mer," he said, voice cracking.  
"Back with us, chéri?" Fuck, he didn't care if Burgie and Bill heard him anymore, didn't care what they might think of how goddamn pathetically gone he was on the man. Eugene didn't answer, just stared at him, eyes frantic. He lifted a shaking hand to his temple, pressed his gloved fingers against the skin there.  
"He's gone," he said, and now his voice wasn't a crack, it had gone all to pieces. His lips twisted, started to tremble, he raised his free hand to his other temple, staring at nothing like he was trying to listen for something in his own head. "He's gone, Sid's gone." He pressed a hand over his eyes, curled up small on his side, and wept.


	13. Chapter 13

Merriell found him a couple hours later, sitting on the beach with his knees curled up against his chest. He'd taken off both his service and work shirt, torso bared and exposed. It was funny, how for Eugene stripping down was a clear message to keep away, that he didn't want to be touched. Merriell plopped down beside him, lay back and stretched out on the sand. The sun was behind them, the trees making long shadows across the beach. The ocean was all moving bright light, the sunlight hitting it just right to make it bounce back up and shine out blinding. Merriell stuck one hand behind his head and drummed another along his side, waited.  
"It's all gone," Eugene said, looking down at his hands. He unwrapped one from around his knees, lifted it so Merriell could see the piece of rock he was holding in his hands. "I can't break it. Scratched it along my skin and gave myself a nice welt." He gave a rueful little smile and tossed the rock aside.   
"How's the head?" Merriell asked, and Eugene reached up and probed at the spot. He'd taken off his gloves too and Merriell watched his hands, fingers long and deliberate in their motions.   
"It hurts," he said, and shrugged. "But I don't really mind that. You know, ever since my powers showed up, I've not minded pain as much as I should. Is that strange?" He darted a glance over at Merriell. "Maybe I'll change my mind now that I can feel it more easily." He stared down at the sand in between them, an oddly hesitant expression on his face. "I'm sorry," he said baldly. "I hope I didn't worry you too much." Merriell looked away. Of course he had worried him, he'd been almost sick with it, but he couldn't say that. Come to that, he really didn't know what the fuck to say at all. He was relieved Eugene was speaking, but didn't have the faintest idea how to respond to anything that he said. "Snafu." He looked back over at him. Eugene was watching him closely, something stark and lonely in his eyes. "Tell me that," he started to say, then stopped. "I need you to tell me, if this changes things," he said, slowly, voice tightly controlled.  
"What do you mean?" Merriell asked, at sea. Eugene drew his knees in more tightly against his body and didn't look away.  
"What you said before, about it not being even. It's even more unbalanced now. I never cared, really, about being strong, about any of that. But being useful, having a purpose, that meant something. Keeping you safe. But now," he shook his head, dropped his gaze. "I don't got anything but this damn skin, now."  
How'd he come to be so hung up on someone so goddamn stupid? Merriell huffed a disbelieving laugh and climbed to his feet. He felt Eugene watching him, ignored him, walking over to his pile of abandoned clothing and picking up his khaki shirt and gloves. He gave them a quick shake, then threw them at Eugene. "Put those on," he growled. "Button up." Eugene shot him a look, but pulled on the gloves, shrugged on the shirt. Merriell circled around behind him and waited until he was all covered up. He reached down and flipped the collar up around his sweet, pink neck, then settled in, all but draped himself across his back. He wrapped his arms tight around Eugene's chest, framed Eugene's legs with his own. Eugene made a little sound of surprise, held himself stiff and tense as Merriell caged his body, and Merriell pushed his nose in against the back of his collar and breathed in sharp, trying to catch his scent. It was faint through his clothing, but there, stale sweat and sun warmed skin, the slightest hint of tobacco. He mouthed along the seam of the collar, bit down hard at the base of Eugene's neck. He felt the breath hitch in Eugene's chest. "What's it gonna take?" he said against the moist fabric.  
"What?" Eugene sounded a little stunned.  
"What do I gotta do to make you understand?" He turned his head, bit down on the muscle that ran along his shoulder, Eugene exhaled in a rush and twitched a little in his grasp, but Merriell just clung on tighter. "I don't got the words for any of it. Pain don't bother you, maybe I'll just take a bite whenever you say that kind of worthless shit to me."  
"I'm sorry-" Eugene started to say, and Merriell grunted and tilted his head down to bite hard on the ball of his shoulder. This time Eugene let out a stifled little groan and Merriell felt his cock, already more than a little invested, stiffen to the point of discomfort. He couldn't help himself, he ground up against Eugene, Christ, it wouldn't take much, just a few frantic humps, and he could reach down and take care of Eugene too, work him over so they fell together into that little bit of mindlessness. It would be so damn easy, but that wasn't the point of this, wasn't what he was trying to tell him. He forced himself to still, to unclamp his teeth from Eugene's shoulder.  
"Quit fucking apologizing," he rasped. "Quit fucking telling me you're only good as some kind of goddamn weapon." Eugene turned suddenly soft in his arms then, turned loose and pliant, his weight coming back against him. Merriell adjusted his grip and propped his chin on his shoulder.  
"What're we gonna do?" Eugene asked quietly. Merriell knew exactly what he meant.  
"You're still a sledgehammer," he said. "Good shot, sharp eye. You'll let Leyden take point and do what Burgie tells you, same as me." It was the closest he'd ever come to lying to the man, he realized, and then thought back with a feeling of shock on how appallingly honest he'd been with Eugene from the very beginning. It was those eyes of his, had to be, the way they pinned a body down and opened them up all slow and sweet. But they were both looking out towards the water now, maybe that was why he was able to, not lie, but not say what he was really thinking. _I'll protect you, nothing's going to touch you, bullet or otherwise, without moving through my body first._ It was all Eugene's anyways, his body, his heart, he'd given it all away. It was like Haldane had said, life was too short to waste time doing anything else. Eugene seemed to accept his words, though he still stared straight ahead with a solemn expression.   
"I've been thinking about Sid," he said, and Merriell barely even felt jealous, Eugene all warm and willing in his arms, confiding in him more easily than he ever had before. "At first I thought he must have died, for him to suddenly slip away from me like he did. But now I'm thinking, maybe," he twisted in Merriell's grasp, turning to look over his shoulder at him. "Do you think it's possible he woke up?" The hope was threaded all through his voice, his expression.  
"Suppose it seems more likely than him just up and dying," Merriell said slowly. The flash of fierce joy that crossed Eugene's expression made him go on. "Could mean nothing at all. You only had that boy Turner in you for a week or so. Took him months to wake up." He still didn't really understand how it worked, Eugene made it seem like it was more than just their thoughts and memories, like he actually absorbed the whole of them into his body.   
"Yeah," Eugene said with a sigh. He turned back around, let his head fall back on Merriell's shoulder. "I suppose I'll know soon enough, when Mary writes me next. Can't let it eat me up in the meantime." Merriell kissed his shoulder absently, and Eugene turned his head to look at him, his breath fanning warm against Merriell's face. They were getting good at this, at being close, learning how to move with one another so that they didn't touch even when they were wrapped up together like lovers. They still hadn't fucked, or whatever it was that would end up taking the place of actual fucking for the two of them, but Merriell didn't worry much about that. It was just a matter of time, he'd get him. He had him.   
"I'm supposed to be bringing you back," he admitted reluctantly. "Burgie wants the four of us together, wants to start working through some shit." Eugene hummed low in his throat and didn't move. "I give it ten minutes or so until he sends Leyden to sniff us out like a goddamn bloodhound."  
"Then I guess we got ten minutes," Eugene said, cool and dry, lips pulling back. Merriell grinned.   
"Guess so."

* * *

  
Merriell found himself returning to that moment often over the next handful of months. The last good moment they had together. He stared at the back of Eugene's neck as they trudged their way along a mud track and thought about how he had pressed his nose as close to the spot as he could, how he had bit into the cloth to reach his flesh. He wondered if Eugene would even react, if he tried that now. Probably just brush him off like a fucking bug.  
Eugene had transformed over the month or so that they'd been on Okinawa, eyes slowly draining, voice gradually dropping away until he barely spoke, most days. Merriell hadn't realized it was possible to miss someone when they were standing right in front of him, when they never really left his side, but fuck, he missed Eugene, the real Eugene. He wanted to say it to him, but it was impossible to say something like that to the pair of eyes that looked back at him these days. Besides, they were never alone anymore, especially now that they had a pair of new boots to look after.  
"Are those Jap prisoners?" That came from the more annoying one. Merriell had disliked him, the both of them, from the moment they appeared with Burgie at the entrance to their lean-to. Merriell, Bill and Sledge had been sitting crammed together on an empty munitions box, and Merriell had barely glanced at the two new faces, just stared at Burgie, waiting.  
"Boys," Burgie said, Merriell could tell from the level neutralness of his voice that he wasn't best pleased. "Meet Hamm and Peck. They've been assigned to 2nd Squad."   
"What for?" Bill asked, looking the strangers over. "They mutants?"  
"No," Burgie answered. "Mortar men. I guess someone figured we might as well start using the damn thing, stop just hauling it around for show."  
"And how do they like that?" Merriell asked, still watching Burgie. "Stuck in a squad with the company freaks." Burgie had just looked over at the two marines.  
"I've got nothing against mutants," one of them said. "The couple of guys I've talked to so far haven't had much to say except that this squad saved the company on more than one occasion."  
"Hell, this squad may be the safest place to be on Okinawa," the other one joked weakly.  
"Don't kid yourself," Burgie snapped. "No place on this island is safe, and this squad is no exception. Rest while you can, we're moving out to relieve the Infantry shortly." He walked off with a curt nod to the three of them, leaving them alone with the humans.   
"Take a seat," Bill said, gesturing down at the mud. "Plenty of choices."  
"The mortar's over here," Eugene said, standing up as much as he could in the lean-to and gesturing behind him. "I've been keeping it clean." The two men took that as their invitation to come into the lean-to, moving awkwardly around them in the tiny space. "Let me know if you ever need a third hand. The amount of times I've taken it apart and put it back together, I'm fairly sure I'd be more help than hindrance." Merriell chuckled darkly and pulled out a smoke. The man would do just about anything at this point to feel like he was serving a purpose, he couldn't be more apparent. Eugene flicked him an annoyed glance, Merriell would have liked it if his eyes weren't so damn cold. He just grinned back, big and empty, until all three of them turned away from him.  
"They're Okinawans," Burgie said, walking along with them, continuing a conversation Merriell hadn't been listening to. Burgie tried to stick close when he could, but most often it was just the three of them. Five of them now.  
"They look like Japs," the same annoying one said. The one who wouldn't shut up about his girl back home, like any of them gave a shit.  
"Shut the fuck up, Kathy," Merriell said. "Don't you hear good? They're Okinawites." Didn't seem quite right.  
"Fuck off." The man tossed it over his shoulder, hard-voiced, surprisingly bold.  
"What you say, boot?" If he was in a different sort of mood he might have liked it, he usually enjoyed testing out where a man's spine was, what it would take to make it fold or stiffen, but Merriell was scraped too close to the bone these days to be amused by his truculence.  
"The name's Peck," he said, glancing back at him. "Tony Peck." This wasn't the first time he had tried to tell him his name, Merriell didn't know why he kept at it.  
"Hey, Pecker, let me see that photo of your wife Kathy again," Bill said, inserting himself between them. He was doing it purposefully. In another fucking bizarre twist, Leyden had somehow ended up becoming the peacekeeper of the group, moving conversation along whenever it started to head towards a confrontation. "She's gorgeous."  
"Thanks," Peck said grudgingly.  
"I need something to jerk off to," Bill said, and Merriell grinned in delight, watching Peck hunch his shoulders and try to ignore Bill as he pretended to moan out his wife's name. Fucking Leyden. He looked ahead, to where Eugene was walking with Burgie, increased his pace to move up past Bill and the new boots.   
"Well, look what we've got here." Merriell glanced over at Burgie's words, saw the Japs sitting in the sludge along the side of the track.   
"I thought you didn't take prisoners," Peck said.  
"Those are army prisoners, boot," Merriell said, watching the Japs. He'd given up some time ago on trying to understand the mix of feelings he had towards the enemy. Who was the enemy these days, anyways? Sometimes he felt like it was most everyone, and the Nips the least of it. It was hard to feel anything but distant pity for what he saw now, a couple of dirty, beaten down men who kept their eyes fixed firmly on their own feet as the line of marines walked by and hurled abuse at them. But he hated them too, there wasn't any point in trying to deny that black loathing. Hated how they wouldn't give up, hated what they'd made of that mutant in the bunker, how they'd treated that kid he'd ended up shooting for Eugene.   
He shouldn't have thought about that. Merriell tried to pull away from it, but it was too late, and he suddenly felt that same terrible realization again, just as strong and implacable as it had been when he'd pulled his sidearm and pointed it at that mutant's scared, bewildered face. Love didn't free you, didn't open any doors. It was a trap, it bound you close and pointed your feet and set you moving down paths you'd never willingly walk if it wasn't driving you on, merciless. His love for Haldane had sent him over here, and his love for Eugene had done the rest, snarled him up in this tangle of fear and devotion and disgust, until he couldn't separate one feeling from the other, until his only choices were to feel everything or nothing. When the marine walking in front of them spat on one of the Nips and the Nip shot to his feet and shouted something after him in defiant tones, Merriell spoke almost without thinking.  
"Out of the way, Hirohito." He stepped up between Burgie and Eugene as the Jap turned around, looked at the three of them. His eyes were a tangle of feeling too, and Merriell suddenly couldn't stand it. He slung the Thompson off his shoulder, pointed it at him. "Move, you slant-eyed bastard. Move!" The Jap stared at him, something had gone all quiet and resolute in his expression, like he had gone somewhere beyond Merriell. He heard one of the marines shout out to shoot him.   
"Sit down," Eugene said. The Jap turned that human, hurting gaze on him and Merriell decided then that he would shoot him, he'd wait until he looked back over at him, and he'd fucking kill him.  
"Move!" He yelled again, but then Eugene reached out and put a hand on his arm. Merriell couldn't understand anything, not with the shouts coming from the marines behind him, the sucking spiral of his own thoughts. He couldn't understand Eugene's touch, or the words Eugene said to the Nip. When the Jap stared at Eugene in surprise, and sat back down in the mud, Merriell couldn't understand his sharp disappointment. It was only then that he started tracking again, started to realize what was going on around him. Infantry were shoving up against marines, accusations flying. Eugene let go of him and Merriell lowered his gun as an army officer tried to shove into his space, kept back by Burgie's arm.  
"You can't mistreat these men," he shouted. "They're protected by the Geneva Conventions."  
"Fuck the Geneva Code," Merriell shot back.  
"Get your hands off him," Burgie said tightly, pushing in between the two of them. "Snafu, shut the hell up."  
"Hey, hey!" Suddenly Mac was beside them, his shout bringing the marines in line. "What's the hold up?" Burgie hustled Merriell on and away, leaving the situation to Mac. Eugene, Bill, and the two humans trailed along behind them. Burgie gave Merriell an angry shake.  
"What the fuck were you thinking?" He bit out. Merriell just shrugged him off, slung his gun back over his shoulder. He wasn't going to think anymore, that was the whole idea.  
He stayed nice and blank for the next handful of days, tossing rocks where he was told, cutting the new boots down by rote. Despite his best efforts, he learned their names and how to tell them apart. Peck talked about home too much, Hamm asked questions that upset Eugene. Merriell didn't know which one he disliked more, but it didn't matter. He stuck close to Eugene and didn't think about him, them. When he did, when he caught himself thinking about those months on Pavuvu and how close they had been, the closest he had ever been to anybody, it filled him up with a bitter amusement that he had to work out of his body like static discharge, usually by tearing into Peck or Hamm.  
The fighting never stopped, even at night, but Merriell wasn't much use in the dark, so he sat and watched Eugene help the humans work the mortar. Burgie was off somewhere like he always was these days, and Bill was sleeping in his hole behind him. They were decently safe, positioned behind and below the front line, and Merriell was smoking and thinking about how goddamn tired he was of the constant rain.   
"Hanging," he heard Hamm say, heard Peck say "Fire," and then the mortar went off, but the sound was strange, had a hissing quality to it. The two of them both jumped to their feet, shouting out a warning for a short round. Merriell barely cared, just finished his smoke and watched Eugene hand them another shell. They went through it all again, but this time when Hamm dropped the round it didn't come back out. The mortar released a rasp of smoke, and Peck cursed and they both leapt back up and yelled out a misfire.  
"It's hot," Hamm said. "We need to clear it," and he looked over at Eugene.  
"Yes, of course," Eugene said, steady and unhesitating, and moved around to the other side of the mortar, and suddenly Merriell wasn't blank anymore.  
"Like hell you are," he said, tossing his smoke down and standing up. They looked over at him, Hamm and Peck in surprise and a little fear, Eugene weary.  
"I'm the obvious choice, Snafu." Merriell heard the warning in his voice, the reminder that Eugene was still next to indestructible as far as anyone else knew. He didn't give a shit. Eugene started to crouch down in front of the mortar, hands coming out to catch the shell.  
"Don't," Merriell said sharply, stepping forward. "Get outta the way, I'll do it."  
"You won't," Eugene said angrily. He turned his dark eyes back to Hamm and Peck. "Come on, it's alright."   
"You tip that mortar into his hands and I'll blast a hole in your chests," Merriell snapped out, and the humans froze, gazes swinging back and forth between the two of them. He glared at Eugene. "Move, Sledgehammer."  
"Jesus Christ, Merriell," Eugene said, and then Bill spoke up from behind them.   
"Would the both of you shut the hell up? I got it, Gene." He pushed past Merriell and shouldered Eugene aside, crouching down and nodding encouragingly to Hamm and Peck. "Go on, don't worry about them and their pissing contest." They tipped the mortar shell into his hands and all four of them watched as he carried it a few paces away and settled it carefully into the mud.   
"Keep firing, goddamn it! Pour it on!" Merriell looked up, to where Mac was standing above them, his voice half lost to the rattle of gunfire and the shouts of the other marines.  
"Our rounds are wet," Hamm yelled back.  
"Get more then, there's ammo up the road. Go!" Mac gestured big and effusive with his arms, Merriell couldn't stand that fucking shavetail. Bill cursed and the five of them moved to retrieve their weapons. Eugene came to stand beside Merriell, grabbed his rifle and glared at the space in front of them, face set with tension.  
"You could just stay here," he said, voice quiet and flat. It was a decent cut, landed sure and moved easily through flesh that Eugene had softened, but Merriell didn't show it. He just pulled a derisive smirk up across his face, rolled his head back on his neck, kept himself loose.  
"That's what you think, huh?" He said mockingly, and when Eugene finally looked at him, when they glared at each other, Merriell managed to keep his head empty of all those thoughts that might move into his expression, change his gaze. He thought about fire, sweeping its furious way across dry wood and eating up anything that it came across. There wasn't a damn thing that could stand against it. Eugene dropped his eyes first, and Merriell followed after him as they made their way through the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter dedicated to the only character in The Pacific to have more expressive eyes than Eugene: the unnamed Japanese POW. Oh, I hate/love that scene for the expression in his eyes. Someone write a fic about him!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two chapters today because Okinawa hurts my heart and I just want to get through it

"Why aren't we giving them safe passage?" Hamm asked the next morning. Merriell didn't have to look at him to know his red-rimmed eyes, the miserable downward turn of his mouth. They'd all heard him sniffling in his hole when he was supposed to be sleeping.  
"What you talking about," he said, although he already knew. He was talking about how they had crouched behind a rock and watched a fleeing family get mowed down by Jap gunfire. He was talking about the child that had tried to crawl away, crying and fighting, until another spray of bullets left him facedown in the mud a few feet from the rest of his family. Merriell had been thinking about it too, about how Eugene had tensed up like he was thinking of running out to the kid, and how he had shrugged off Merriell's restraining hand with a hard glare and a turned away face.  
"The civilians," Hamm said, predictably. "We should be," his voice faltered, came back stronger. "We should be giving them safe conduct."  
"A lot of them are helping the Nips, Hamm," Sledge said from behind Merriell. The smell of his tobacco was warm and painful drifting through the air. Merriell thought about sitting close to him in the evenings, how they had touched each other carefully, deliberately, aware of the many eyes around them but not willing to pull apart.  
"That family wasn't." Hamm's voice was sure now, harder. "Why didn't you guys help them? I thought that," he trailed off. Merriell didn't look at Eugene, didn't want to know the expression on his face.  
"Ain't here to be heroes," he said, matching Hamm's tone. "Only thing that matters up here is killing Japs." The fuck else was there to say? Not the truth, that Eugene was as vulnerable as a human these days, that Burgie had hammered into all their heads not to take any unnecessary risks. That they were being watched, that someone, they didn't even know who it might be, was waiting for a moment of weakness to step in and tear one of them away.  
Bill had been pacing around restlessly; now he came and leaned up beside Hamm, knocked his knuckles against the side of Hamm's head. "You know, the first time you see someone get killed, it's something. I was fifteen." Merriell glanced over at him, surprised. He knew this story, and it wasn't something to share with a human, especially one they barely knew. "A buddy and I were hopping subway cars in Brooklyn. We went through a tunnel that was a bit too small and he, uh," Bill shook his head. "His brains and bone got sprayed all over my face and chest. You never ever forget something like that."  
He hadn't told the whole story, the one he had told Merriell and Jay one night when the three of them had set out to get drunk. It took a lot of work to get a boy like Leyden shit-faced, but they had managed it, and had been fucking proud of it too. Leyden turned out to be the sharing sort when he was in his cups, and Merriell and Jay had listened as he told them about that day in Brooklyn, how he and his buddy had both gotten hit, how Bill had lain in between the cars with his dead friend beside him and felt his body stitch itself back together. That had been the moment he'd realized there was something wrong with him. Every mutant had a story like that, held close to their chest. The moment they understood they were different. Merriell had yet to hear a happy one.   
He turned his attention to Peck, sitting across from him and looking at his wife's picture again. "What's the matter, Kathy?" Peck looked up at him, and Merriell leaned forward, raised a finger. "One day of combat, you're all wore out." Peck had turned out to be the one to blame for the wet rounds the night before, so as far as Merriell was concerned, he was also the one to blame for the widening gap between Eugene and himself. He could feel Sledge and Bill watching him, like he was someone who had to be watched these days, like he couldn't be trusted to keep it tight. It made him fucking furious. He leaned back on his hands. "More excitement's on the way, princess. Japs are fighting for their own turf now." He watched the shadow of fear move across Peck's eyes, climbed to his feet and made his way around the mud puddle that separated them. "Every damn foot we go south, they'll get meaner and meaner." He crouched down, pushed his face in close. "You better get mean too, boot." He waited a moment, then snaked his hand out, snatched the photo of Peck's wife and moved away with it before Peck could make any meaningful attempt to take it back. He stared down at it, momentarily taken aback by what he saw. "Ooh." She was gorgeous, something any man would happily sink into. "Ooh la la la. Now that's a piece of ass." He turned towards Eugene as he said it, grinning sharp, wanting a reaction, any sort of response.  
"Careful, that's the man's wife you're talking about," Eugene said around his pipe. He glanced over at Merriell and then away, unmoved. Merriell couldn't reach him even to hurt him, these days.   
Merriell hummed appreciatively and moved over to Eugene, shoving the photo into his unwilling hands. "A piece that fine, I'd lock it down too," he said, watching Eugene. _Anything,_ he thought. _Give me anything at all_. Eugene stared down at the picture and didn't speak.  
"Who said anything about that?" Bill said, moving to join them. Peck made to grab the photo back, but Bill snatched it from Eugene before he could reach them.  
"Give it back," Peck said. Bill ignored him, brushed his hand off.  
"Kathy Jones?" He said. Peck grabbed for it again and this time Bill let him take it. "I thought you said your name was Peck." Peck sat back down and threw the three of them a quick look. "She's not your wife."  
Merriell felt a laugh roll out of him. "Oh, that's rich." The man had a wife and thing on the side and he, meanwhile, hadn't touched, much less fucked someone, for close to two years. That had all started to fall away once Eugene showed up, once Merriell started to crave a particular set of hands, a soft voice. "Yeah, what's the missus think about Kitty Cat?"  
"I met her after I was drafted," Peck said, short, like that explained everything.  
"I don't believe it," Merriell said, leaving Eugene and his empty face, following after Peck. What he wouldn't give for a gentle touch, for warm flesh that held firm or gave beneath him. "No way that broad is banging some drafted marine. No way."  
"I don't care what you think," Peck snapped out, and then Burgie's voice drew their attention, pulled them back to the increasing gunfire and rising shouts.   
"Japs are retreating," he said, coming around the side of a rock. "They're leaving."   
"K Company, let's move, let's move!" Mac popped around, started shouting orders out. "2nd Battalion's broken through on the left, we need to guard their flank." Merriell grabbed his helmet, looked around for his rifle. "Burgin, I need 2nd Squad in the center for the push." Burgie nodded and Mac spun away, still yelling. "Let's go, move it! The Japs are falling back, let's go!"  
"Let's go, boys," Burgie said.  
"Why us?" Peck burst out, distressed.  
"You're with the mutants, Peck, what the hell else did you think they'd be using us for?" Bill said, moving forward to join Burgie.  
"Safest place on the whole island," Merriell said mockingly as he brushed past him.  
"Anyways, it's about time you stateside boys got to see what the war's all about," Bill said, as they fell into position, he and Merriell in front, Eugene following behind with the humans.  
"Not now, Bill," Burgie said, not bothering to turn around from where he was pressed up against the rock. "Alright, let's go. Move out!"  
"Oh Lord," Merriell heard Hamm say behind him, and then they were pushing forward, down the rocks, moving with bent backs across the space between the lines. There wasn't anything there anymore except low burning fires, the skeletal remains of buildings, abandoned bodies. Burgie shouted for them to spread out and stay on line and Mac shouted for them to check everything, and so they shifted, moving a little space away from one another, creeping forward slowly. Merriell was aware of the rest of the company around them, taking their cues from them, pausing and pushing forward on their signals. He didn't know how the hell it had happened, this shift in feeling towards them, and he didn't think he liked it any more than he had the spite and indifference they'd born towards them before. It was unwanted, too much, the weight of their reliance on the four of them, and he didn't have a damn thing to lean on, to brace him up.  
It was too easy, too quiet, as they crossed the space and came up against the line of rocks that the Japs had abandoned. Merriell started to get an itch along the back of his neck. He reached into his pocket and palmed a stone, held it against the stock of his rifle as he crouched down behind a low bit of cover in between Sledge and Peck and looked up at the steep incline, the angle treacherous, the pathway narrow. It would be a hard way forward if they met any real resistance.  
"What the fuck are we doing here?" Bill said, pressed up against a rock across the way, Burgie beside him. Merriell knew he felt it too, the wrongness, some sort of trap sliding shut around them.  
Sound came, faint and strange, Merriell couldn't figure out what it was for a moment, and then he realized with a grim tightening of his limbs that it was a baby, wailing out in distress. There was motion on the trail, stumbling and uncertain, the sound of voices.   
"Civilians!" Someone shouted. Merriell watched a group of women come into view, dirty and scared, casting terrified glances back the way they'd come.  
"Let's go, move them through," Burgie said, and the soldiers gestured the women sharply on, trying to urge them to move quickly down past them. The wails grew louder as the woman carrying the baby came into view at the back of the group. She was sobbing, holding the baby out in her arms like she wanted one of them to stand up and take it from her. She was turning back and forth, pleading with each of them in turn, repeating something over and over.  
"What do we do?" Peck asked. Merriell glanced over at Eugene, he was frowning as he tried to make out what she was saying, his grasp of the language tenuous at best. His eyes changed, he rocked back a little like something had come into contact with him.  
"No," he said.  
"She's wired!" Someone shouted, as the woman's kimono parted and they all got a good look at what had been strapped to her body. Merriell was barely able to feel horrified before a shot cracked out and the woman exploded, the cries of both her and her baby abruptly gone, lost to a cascade of other sound. He ducked down as blood sprayed out, lifted his head back up to the sight of civilians, running pell-mell down the slope now, fleeing the sudden sharp gunfire raining down on them. They were all shouting now, the marines trying to get the civilians moved through, the civilians crying out in fear. And here came the Japs behind them, more shots ringing out, using the civilians as cover. And the sniper up above them still, just visible along the ridge, picking them off.  
"We're pinned, we can't move!" One of the marines shouted.  
"Snafu, get that damn gun!" Burgie yelled, leaning out with one hand along the side of his glasses. He shot off two blasts, quick as a thought, and two Japs dropped, the ragged civilians they had been hiding behind unharmed. It didn't do much good though, shots were being fired indiscriminately by now, civilians dropping along with the soldiers. Eugene raised himself up to shoot and Merriell reached over and shoved down hard against his shoulder.  
"Stay the fuck down," he bit out, even as he stood up himself, stone twisted awake and charged, eyes locked on the sniper, just a gray outline up above him. He threw it, he knew even as it left his hand that it was perfectly aimed. The stone exploded, and Merriell dropped back down beside Eugene just as something else arrived, appearing in the middle of the carnage with a thunderous crack of sound. "The fuck," Merriell said, but he couldn't hear his own voice from the ringing in his ears, and then the Jap lifted a hand and shot a bolt of something bright and crackling blue-white down on them. The line of marines it hit barely even screamed, convulsed and fell to the ground, bodies scorched and smoking. Static swept through the air, raising every hair on Merriell's body, and then the sound burst out right after, shaking the ground, shaking everything. Stunned, staggered, Merriell barely saw Burgie wheel around the side of the rock, the red beam blasting out precise and powerful. The Jap fell backwards under the force of it, and then streaked away, disappearing back up the path almost faster than the eye could follow. Thunder ripped out again in its wake.  
"Jesus Christ, was that a mutant?" Mac cried out. There was a strange, sharp smell all around them, like the air itself had burned.  
"She'll be coming back around," Burgie said, ignoring him. "If she's smart, she'll aim for me. Bill."  
"Got it," Bill said, and peeled off, making his way back the way they had come.   
"I'll rely on the two of you if she tries this end again," Burgie said to Eugene and Merriell, and that was all he had time to say before the gunfire started up again, the tactic clear now, shake them up and then set the mutant loose on them when they were good and rattled. Mac recovered enough to start directing fire, the marines recovered enough to follow orders, and the next few moments were taken up with picking them off smart and careful. They had run out of civilians to throw at them at least, that was something. Then a blur of motion blew past them, sound and static rippling out around its passing form, and Burgie shouted out a wordless warning. He and the soldiers around him barely had time to move, throwing themselves every which way, before another burst of lightning ripped towards them. It caught more than a few of them, seared through them and dropped them down lifeless. Burgie rolled away, came up against Eugene, who helped him right himself and then returned to firing up the slope, cool and sharp. Merriell wasn't so focused, half twisted around and trying and locate the Jap. He saw her as she turned, tracking Burgie, as she lifted her hand again.   
"Merde, move!" He shouted, grabbing on to whatever part of Eugene he could and throwing himself forward, he could only hope that Burgie had heard him and done the same. Now they were exposed to the lingering gunfire still coming from up above, but better that than the skin-singeing, crackling heat that passed over their heads and struck the fallen tree that had comprised most of their cover, bursting it to flame. He rolled, uncoiled, pulled a rock and was halfway through the motion of throwing it and tossing himself back down when he saw Leyden close in behind her, moving fast and silent the way that only he could. They were too far away for him to make it out clearly, but it was obvious from the way she suddenly arched, from the way her hands flew out, lightning discharging uncontrolled from her fingertips and streaking up into the sky, that it was over. He checked quick, saw that Burgie had thrown himself back behind some rock, and then a hand yanked him backwards, Eugene dragging him to cover.   
They shoved their way in between Peck and Hamm, and Merriell realized with a jolt that he'd dropped his rifle. He pulled his sidearm, just as Mac yelled out to cease fire. "Oh Lord," Hamm said beside him, faint.   
Merriell sagged back and looked at Eugene, feeling wild, feeling jagged. "Where's your damn helmet," he said, it was the first thing he saw, all that soft red hair, and Eugene looked over at him like he was crazy. There was a streak of white growing in over his left brow, where he had fallen and struck his head back on Pavuvu. Merriell stared at it.  
"Snafu," Eugene said, sounding concerned. "Hey." And then -   
"Incoming!" Someone shouted, and Merriell heard the faint scream of something moving through the air, shrieking louder and more powerful as it approached. "Take cover!"  
"Those are ours," Eugene said, and he threw his arm over Merriell's shoulder and Merriell didn't even try to push him off like he should, just huddled in close and ducked his head as the artillery struck, as the world shook and dirt plumed out and showered back down on them.  
"Our own fuckers are shelling us." He could hardly believe it, even as he said it.  
"Pull back!" Mac was yelling. "Back to the other ridge!" Eugene dropped his arm from Merriell's back and they jumped up and ran, just as scared shitless as all the rest of them, shells hitting all around them, and Merriell was struck all over again by how goddamn unnecessary a handful of mutants were. Humans had moved far beyond anything they could do.  
"They have us targeted," Burgie said, running alongside them, like he was just coming around to realizing what the fuck was going on, and Merriell could almost laugh, but there wasn't any space for that when he was so full up with fear and rage.   
They made it back to their side, made it across the ridge, and Merriell stomped past Peck as he leaned against a rock and vomited. He felt a tremble starting up in his legs, in his arms. The only thing keeping him upright and steady was his fury. "I ever find the fucking F.O. that called that arty, I'll shoot him!" He spat, following after Eugene.  
"Why did they shell us?" Hamm asked, like a lost goddamn child.  
"Because some asshole officer read a map wrong, and nobody gives a shit about us," Eugene said, voice hard like Merriell hadn't ever heard before. "There is no goddamn reason." His words sucked the fury straight out of Merriell. He sank down to his knees, pulled a rock from his pocket and rolled it between his shaking fingers. What was the reason, there had to be a reason. The rock was uneven, the bumps and ridges that comprised its surface unpredictable. It had been a part of something else, once, one of the many outcroppings and ridges that marked the island's landscape. But an outside force had slammed in and shattered it, broken it away, and now it was nothing.  
"Snafu." Merriell looked up, saw Burgie leaning over him, lips pressed tight. "Come on, wake up." His voice was gentle, Merriell almost closed his eyes in relief at hearing something so gentle, good and long trusted. He looked over, saw that Eugene was watching him too.  
"Fine," he croaked, dropping the rock, reaching up and checking his helmet. "I'm fine." Burgie watched him for a long moment, Merriell could feel his gaze through his red glasses, but finally he nodded, stepped back.  
The days melted together, endless rain, endless stinking mud. Merriell stopped trying to track them as they passed, left that up to Eugene, his pencil scratching careful marks along the pages of his grubby bible. Word came that the war in Europe was over, but that didn't mean a damn thing to them. The Japs were a different breed, Merriell just had to think about that crying baby, that sobbing woman, to know that Germany's surrender didn't mean shit.  
Nights were spent huddled close together beneath their makeshift shelter. It was a wasted effort as far as Merriell could figure; the mornings found them wet and caked in mud regardless. He slept leaned up against Eugene's back, but that didn't really mean anything anymore. Eugene kept his silence, his hard distance. But Merriell wasn't going to lean up against anyone else, so he settled back, pulled his helmet down low over his head, and slept as best he could.  
"Tell me about her," Eugene said one night, his voice a soft vibration that Merriell could feel along his back. Merriell, half asleep, didn't understand what the fuck he was talking about. "You don't gotta put it up, I don't care about," Eugene paused, and Merriell realized he was talking to someone else. "I'm not gonna judge you. Just curious."  
"Why?" Peck's voice was hard. "You've seen her, what's there to be curious about?" Merriell heard the faint sound of paper rustling; the man must have been looking at that damn picture again.  
"So that's all it is?" Eugene asked. "She's just beautiful, there's nothing else?"  
"No," Peck said grudgingly, after a long silence. "There's more to it than that. A picture can't even capture it. She's, I don't know. She was more alive than anyone else in the room, the first time I saw her. Doesn't matter what room she's standing in. And she looked at me, wanted me." His voice had changed, become a little awe-struck. "Who could turn away from something like that, you know?"  
"You love her?" Eugene asked, and Peck laughed.  
"No," he answered, curt and angry. "I love Ruth. My wife." Eugene didn't speak, and after a moment he went on. "Sometimes I almost hate her. Kathy. Hate how I can't get her out of my head. And I want to see her again, be with her again. But it's not love, not for either of us." They were quiet for a bit, Merriell could practically feel the thoughts churning in Eugene's mind. There was a faintly uneasy feeling around them now, in Merriell's chest. He didn't like this conversation, didn't understand what Eugene was driving at.  
"And your wife?" Eugene finally asked, hesitant. "What about her?"  
"What about her?" Peck said defensively. "She's won't ever know. God. She can't ever know. Why are you so curious, anyway?" His voice had turned, a sharp point instead of a shield. "You don't give a shit, not really."  
"I'm sorry," Eugene said. His voice was gentle, Merriell had missed hearing him speak all gentle like that. "It's just something to think about, I suppose. It must be hard, being pulled in two different directions." There was a question in his voice, and Merriell suddenly saw it, the thread of the idea that Eugene was chasing.   
"What you want the man to say, Sledgehammer," he said, and Eugene's back went stiff against his own. "That he could stuff his cock up inside a whole mess of chorus girls, and it wouldn't change nothing between him and his wife? 'Cause that's different, huh? That's love." He didn't try to hide his contempt, or the thick anger that was coursing all through him. Christ, he hadn't even said it to him, told him, and Eugene was already planning for the day when he would, what, go fuck someone else, give all this feeling to someone else? It hurt, in his head, his chest, to realize how wide the divide had become. He pushed himself to his feet, resettled his helmet. He saw Hamm lift his head, saw Bill watching from where he had propped himself up along the edge of their shelter.  
"They are different," Eugene said, voice steady. Merriell turned around and glared at him, but he was staring down at his gloved hands, still facing the other way. "Don't have to love a person to fuck them." He cursed so rarely, it was all wrong, hearing him talk like that. "Don't have to touch a person to," he trailed off, and Merriell wanted to hit him, wanted to fold up tight around the pain, sharp and growing.  
"So Mrs. Pecker just sends him out the door, passes the time until he comes back, is that right?" He knew he sounded desperate, raw and wild, he barely knew what the fuck was going on anymore. He circled around them until he was standing behind Peck. The man curled in away from him, like he thought he might get hit, like he thought he fucking mattered at all anymore. Merriell just wanted to see Eugene's face. "How you think she's holding up?" Eugene lifted his eyes, they were open, unflinching. He held Merriell there, it wasn't possible to look away.  
"She's still got what's important." Somehow it reached him, Merriell felt himself spinning, a maelstrom of desire and despair, around the fixed point that was Eugene's dark eyes, his soft voice. "Be honest. Would he really be happy with what she could give him?"  
He hadn't ever lied to the man, not really. What the fuck did happiness matter, anyway? Merriell thought about Eugene's hands in his hair, on his waist, about the handful of times they'd pressed close and clung on to each other. It wasn't ever close enough, he was too goddamn greedy, starving, for it to ever be enough. He would always need to touch him.  
"Course he'd be happy with it," he said grimly, jaw set. He could tell by the way his eyes changed that Eugene knew it was a lie.


	15. Chapter 15

Eugene read and re-read the words. He could feel his hand tensing, crinkling the paper, and forced them to relax, to carefully fold the letter up, close those words and the rest of the world away. His fingers traveled the letter's edges and he stared out at the gray sludge, the gray teeth of rock, the sad colorless whole of it. He tried not to think about it, but the images kept wanting to rise up.  
He thought he heard Snafu say his name, stretched out in the mud beside him. The man didn't do anything anymore but sink words into him like knives and stare at him with eyes like pits, but he still stuck as close as a burr. Eugene didn't answer; he was focused on trying not to see. Snafu got up, walked around him to his other side, stood standing over him. Eugene felt himself starting to stiffen, bracing for whatever would come next, impossible to predict, especially with things the way they were now between them.   
"Gene?" His voice was hesitant, worried. Eugene hadn't expected that.  
"My dog died," he said, and then fought not to clamp his teeth down on his own tongue, he was so shocked, so furious with himself for speaking. Snafu sat down, too close, Eugene wanted to pull away from him. Why couldn't he understand that he didn't want to be touched? It wasn't like before, when he'd still had Sid in him. Then, when Snafu would lean against him, into him, Eugene had felt his weight like a gift. Snafu was rough-edged, hard-eyed, but he could come to Eugene and let all that drop away and Eugene would hold on to him, hold him up. Now when Snafu tried to lean in Eugene felt like he might crumple like paper beneath him. He couldn't protect his body, wasn't a safe place for Snafu to store his trust or feelings. But Snafu wouldn't stop leaning.  
"I'm sorry," he said now, his words stripped of all the layered shades of meaning he usually loaded them up with. Eugene looked over at him; his eyes were heavy, swollen and bruised almost purple from lack of sleep. He'd give anything to be different, to reach over with bare hands and stroke his fingers along the tender skin beneath his eyes. Care for him the way he deserved to be cared for. "Didn't know you had a dog."  
"Got him as a pup about nine years ago." He looked down at Snafu's hands, tapping against each other in an oddly nervous motion. They had always seemed too large for his lean frame, all jutting, clever bones. Beautiful. "He wasn't really my dog, when you get down to it. He was afraid of me. Skulked out of the room when he saw me coming." Snafu didn't speak, didn't move, and Eugene glanced back up at his face. He looked scared, hopeful, laid open and vulnerable in a way he rarely ever showed. Eugene knew he could hurt him easily when he was like this, it would just take a few carefully chosen words, a turned away shoulder. It might make it easier on them both if he did, help them to stand apart from one another again. But he couldn't do it. Snafu moved one hand in between their bodies, pressed his knuckles against Eugene's hip.  
"Eugene," he said again.  
"I touched him," he admitted reluctantly. His voice dropped low without him really meaning to, a mixture of shame and a desire to close himself and Snafu up some place dark and small and warm, just the two of them. "After I hurt Sid. I wasn't handling it well. Deacon was always following me around, he was still my dog, then." Something caught and pulled sharply in his throat and Eugene had to stop until it eased up. "I thought maybe it would be different, with an animal. Convinced myself to try it." He was back there now, remembering, how he'd knelt down and pushed Deacon back when he'd tried to move forward to lick his face, his whole body moving with the force of his happiness. How he'd pulled off one glove, rubbed Deacon's ear gently with his covered hand, ran a careful bare-skinned finger along the side of his snout. _Deacon_ rushed in, a mess of sensations and devotion, at the same moment that Deacon yelped out in fright and jumped back from him, turned and ran away. After that, no amount of calling, soft or strident, could bring him back to Eugene's side. Snafu was gnawing on his lip, his stare oddly blank. Eugene watched him, the way he twitched restlessly as he considered and discarded different responses. All the intensity of feeling that hid behind those indecipherable eyes, the potential for loyalty, fidelity. He'd never understand why Snafu had chosen to show it to him, give it to him. He wouldn't ever be able to repay it, give him something back to equal it, except maybe his own freedom. Snafu had chained himself willingly to him, but Eugene didn't have to keep holding on to that chain. Like Deacon, even Snafu could be driven away. Maybe all it would take was a touch. Eugene stared at his mouth, imagined learning its shape, its texture, with his lips and teeth and tongue.  
"Go on, then," Snafu said. His eyes had hooked in, darkened. He could read him too well these days, sometimes it seemed he understood the shape of his thoughts even before Eugene himself. "Try it, see if it makes any damn difference to me." He licked his lips, leaned in.  
"Why doesn't it frighten you?" He said it softly, leaning in too. He'd seen him touch Turner, knew about Sid. It didn't make sense.  
"Ain't afraid of you knowing me." He turned his hand against Eugene's hip, gripping flesh and bone. "It's what I been wanting."  
_I want to know you, too._ "You're an idiot." Snafu smirked at his words, didn't pull back. Eugene closed his mouth tight against the declarations of love and abject apologies and promises of faith fighting to pour out of it. But he didn't move away either.  
"Wow."  
Eugene blinked, the world rushing back in. The stink of bodies, both rotting and living, the constant gunfire. The war. He watched Snafu come back too, watched him throw an annoyed glare over at Hamm, sitting across the way. He was staring at them, his own letter held forgotten in his hand. "Wow," he said again, looking back and forth between them. Snafu let go of his hip, shifted over and leaned his shoulder against Eugene's. He stared at Hamm balefully. "So you guys are," he stopped, wilting a little under Snafu's withering eyes. "I mean, I sorta thought you hated each other."  
God, he was a fool. Eugene glanced around, but no one else seemed to be paying any attention to them. They had been reckless on Pavuvu, but there hadn't been much to fear then, either. He had been next to invulnerable, untouchable, and Snafu, so long as he was beside him, had been as safe and guarded as Eugene could make him. It was different now. Advertising those kinds of inclinations could get Snafu hurt or worse, and Eugene couldn't do a damn thing anymore to shield him. He focused on tucking his letter away into his pocket, keeping a firm gaze on Hamm while he did so. "You got an opinion, you just keep it to yourself," he said. The threat was slight, barely there, but he saw that Hamm picked up on it.  
"It's none of my business," he said stiffly, looking away. "Don't have to be an asshole about it." Eugene felt a pang of guilt. Hamm was a good man, had been nothing but decent to him, to all of them. He and Peck couldn't have come into a worse situation than the one they had been plopped down in, and the both of them were paying the price for it. He glanced over at Peck, staring at the picture of that chorus girl again. The poor guy was cracking underneath the pressures of war, not to mention the cold stares that Snafu leveled at him, Bill's harsh teasing. That was his fault, too. Ever since the night that he and Peck had talked, the night he realized how easily Snafu could pick up the trail of his thoughts, how easily he could pick apart Snafu's expressions, Peck had become the focus of both Bill and Snafu's ire. Eugene knew why Snafu resented the man, but Bill's reasoning was less easily understood. But he knew, deep down, that it had something to do with the unabating tension between himself and Snafu. They were cruel to one another, both casually and purposefully, and it was affecting everyone. It had gotten under Bill, and Peck was the easy target for words he couldn't bring himself to say to the two people who actually deserved it. Even as he watched, Bill came up beside the man and snatched the picture away.   
"Goddamn it, give it back," Peck snapped out, jumping to his feet.  
"Forget about her." Bill glanced over at Eugene and Snafu, the quick assessment telling. "You're fucking married, anyway."  
"Fuck you!" Peck shouted, and hit Bill across the jaw. The man was a complete fool. That was Eugene's only clear thought, as Bill swung back, harder and faster and with more focused intent than any human could match. Peck fell backwards under the force of it and Bill followed after him, face set.   
"Stop it, Bill." Burgie was suddenly there, thank God. Eugene stood up, watched as Burgie moved an arm in between them and expertly shoved Bill off-balance. Bill tipped backwards, caught himself and shot back up to his feet. He started to surge forward again but Burgie stuck his hand against his chest. "Goddamn it, Bill. Hey!" His raised voice did the trick, had Bill settling slightly back. "What the fuck's the matter with you, huh?" Burgie said, his palm still firmly planted. He reached with his free hand and ripped the picture from Bill's grasp. "The Japs ain't enough? What the fuck is this about?" He glanced down at the photo, turned around and tossed it into Peck's lap. "It's just a damn picture, Peck. Get the fuck outta here." Peck stormed away, face writhing, and Bill opened his mouth to say something, but Burgie cut him off, pushing his face in close. "We don't need this crap, Bill," he said, quiet, voice vibrating with meaning.   
"You think I need it?" Bill said, and his eyes slid over to where Eugene and Snafu were sitting. Burgie turned, following his gaze, Eugene watched his jaw clench as he looked down at them.  
"We don't need it, Bill," Burgie said again, but all the weight of those red lenses stayed focused on them. He dropped his hand, turned and paced away. Eugene felt Snafu glance at him, didn't look back. He watched Bill instead, watched him grab his helmet and glare at Peck, at all of them, then turn and stalk off. He stared down at his gloved hands, feeling guilty and weak and on edge, and so he didn't see it when the mortar struck.   
He heard it, flinched and moved to curl himself around Snafu instinctively, and then the ground shook and he looked up just in time to see Bill get thrown back and land in a crumpled heap on the ground. "Bill, Jesus," he said, letting go of Snafu and moving to stand up. Snafu's hand latched on to his shirt and he yanked him back down. Eugene struggled against him and they both fell into the mud as shells whistled and plummeted all around them.  
"Quit bucking," Snafu hissed. He was all but sprawled on top of Eugene now, pressing his knee into his back and leaning the rest of his weight on his shoulders to keep him down. "Give him a minute, he'll get back up."  
"Bill!" Eugene shouted. He stopped fighting against Snafu and just watched Bill desperately for some sign that he was recovering, healing. Then the second mortar hit and Bill's limp body was tossed up and then back down, limbs flopping, seemingly lifeless. Then nothing mattered but getting to him, and Eugene was trying to claw his way through the muck while Snafu dragged him back. He heard Snafu yell something, and another pair of hands were on him and he was being shoved back against a rock. Hamm was staring down at him, wide-eyed. Snafu was half turned away, his body blocking Eugene's view of Bill.  
"The fuck you doing?" He shouted, sounding angry, afraid.   
"Taking him to B.A.S.," a voice said in answer. Eugene shoved himself upright, Snafu and Hamm both grabbing on to him and keeping him from pushing forward.  
"No you're not," Burgie's voice was an open warning. "Take your hands off him, we'll see to him." Eugene shoved Snafu out of the way enough to see what was happening. The shells were tapering off but still falling, and Burgie had moved out from the small rock cover to confront a pair of corpsman who were loading Bill's broken body onto a stretcher.   
"He's wounded, we're taking him back to Battalion," one of the corpsmen said thinly. His face was an open nerve, eyes flicking fearfully back and forth between the three of them.   
"Snafu," Eugene breathed, horror winding its way up his spine. Had it been planned, had they shelled them on purpose? Or were they just seizing an opportune moment? Either way, they were trying to take him.  
"Wait," Snafu snapped at him, hard, trying to straighten up while still holding him down.  
"He doesn't need to go anywhere, and you know it." Burgie's voice was emotionless and low. "Don't push this, Powell. It ain't worth your life." The man blanched, and the other corpsman stared up at Burgie in open terror. Snafu let go of Eugene and they both stood, waiting on Burgie's signal.   
"What," Eugene heard Hamm say faintly behind them, still crouched down against the rock.  
"I gotta take him to the aid station, Burgin," Powell said, face and voice pleading. "You don't understand. I have to do it." Jesus Christ, they were going to die. There wasn't any way they were getting out of this alive and together.  
"Damn it, Powell," Burgie said, regret and resignation, as he reached up towards his glasses, as he stepped back and Eugene and Snafu moved forward, so that they could stand together when -   
\- When Haldane stepped in and shoved them down into their seats, the movement so forceful that it shook the room around them, made the dishes in front of them rattle against the table. Eugene looked over and stared into Snafu's wide, wild eyes. He turned the other way and looked into Burgie's. They were blue, dark blue, and brimming with warmth and worry. Eugene stared, shocked, inexplicably moved.  
"Let them take him." Eugene looked up at Haldane's words. He was standing at the other end of the table, hands braced along the edge, staring down at his plate. Blueberry pancakes. This had happened, Eugene realized, remembering. Haldane and Florence had made blueberry pancakes one night for supper and they had all sat and eaten together, a rare occurrence. Even Haney had joined them. "I'm with him. They won't have him for long." Eugene tried to speak and couldn't, tried to move but his limbs were frozen. Haldane was holding them there, in his power. "I shouldn't have sent you boys over there." His voice was dark and angry like Eugene had never heard before. "Stay together, take care of each other. I'm going to get you out." He lifted his hands off the table and off of them and like a snapped band Eugene was released back to his body, stepping up beside Burgie as he dropped his half-raised arm down to his side, his hand clenching into a fist.   
"You could have come to us," he said flatly to the staring corpsmen. "We could have helped each other. Sledge, Snafu." He turned and walked away, and Eugene and Snafu followed after him. Eugene looked back, watched them lift the stretcher and carry Bill off.   
"Man," Hamm said that night, sitting beside Eugene in the dark. His voice was small. He had stuck close to Eugene's side the rest of the day, watched him with frightened eyes. "I thought it'd be different."  
"Different from what?" He knew he sounded scornful and cold, but he couldn't see anything but Bill, laying there all alone while mortars struck the earth around him.   
"I'm just saying," Hamm answered weakly, and sniffled. "They said you guys took care of each other. Fought like real marines should. I thought I'd maybe be a part of that."  
"Who said that?" Eugene asked, turning to look at him. Hamm shrugged.  
"The couple of men I talked to before they introduced us to Burgie. They'd get a look in their eyes when they talked about you guys." Eugene was aware of Snafu listening on his other side, smoking silently. Hamm turned suddenly to look at Eugene. "They said bullets bounced off of you. Said you stopped a tank it its tracks with one hand. But I held you down. And you didn't help that family." His mouth snapped shut with a click, but the questions, the accusations, were clear in his eyes and face.  
Eugene glanced over at Peck. He was staring off into the distance, eyes wide. Eugene didn't know what he was seeing, didn't know if he was listening. "I'm sorry," he said to the both of them anyway. "I am. You thought you were fighting beside a couple of heroes, but we're here for the same reasons as you. No one wants anything from you but to use you up for their own gain." He didn't know if it was cruel or kind, if he was wasting his time trying to say anything honest to them at all.   
"You been thinking too much, Hammbone," Snafu drawled. Eugene looked over at him, he was smiling, sharp and hollow, his head leaned back against a strip of wood. "Let me help you out. You keep thinking on things best left alone, and I'll gut you." He took a slow, careless draw of his cigarette, teeth bared around the white cylinder, and for a moment he looked just like the Jap in the bunker, the same mad, stitched-on smile. Eugene felt the weight of it come down on his shoulders. "The both of you. Won't be any need for the fucking B.A.S."  
Was this what he had been like, before? Had his mouth been so wide and cruel, his eyes so vacant, when Haldane took him in and gave him a home? Eugene stared at him, cold understanding creeping over his limbs. He thought about how they had been back home, Snafu always appearing out nowhere, always openly delighting in flustering him. How they had been on Pavuvu, his sweet weight leaning against him, pliant and trusting, a part of himself that he only gave to Eugene. Who could have possibly imagined that all those moments, that thing that seemed to be growing green and bright and strong between them, could have led them to where they were now? Snafu had murdered for him before. And here he was, casually promising to do so again. Eugene clambered to his feet, moved away as quickly as he could through the dark, the thick mud. There wasn't anywhere to go, he couldn't escape any of it, but he found a bit of rock and huddled on the opposite side, pressed his hand against his face.  
It had to stop. He couldn't be the reason for a smile like that, words like that. He couldn't be responsible for Snafu willingly discarding all those parts of himself. He would snap and fall apart under that weight. But he couldn't see any way forward that didn't end in pain. But then, it was always going to end that way, he'd known that from the first.  
The soft sound of boots pulling their way through sucking mud gave him warning, a second to square his shoulders and cover up all the doubt. He glanced over as Snafu came to stand beside him. Snafu scanned his face fleetingly, then looked away. He was holding one of his rocks, rolling it along his fingers.   
"You check your boots yet?" He asked. "Found a bunch of maggots in one of mine." He paused like he was waiting on Eugene to answer, went on. "Think I'm getting the jungle rot. Got some sores, you know how to tell if gangrene's set in?"   
He wouldn't ever say it, wouldn't ever ask for what he really needed. Eugene knew all it would take was the smallest sign from him, and Snafu would fold up against him, let him soothe him. Christ, he needed it too. The same thoughts were on both their minds. Bill had been taken, had been hurt more badly than ever before. Haldane had promised them he would stop it, but Haldane was changed, frighteningly so. He had gripped them tight and held them in place, and he hadn't once looked up. If they didn't have Andy to rely on, to have faith in, what was left? Only each other, and that couldn't continue either. Eugene strung the words together carefully before he said them, they had to be true, because Snafu would know if he was lying, and they had to be hard.  
"I don't want this." He didn't know how he managed to do it, to say it evenly, definitively. The rock paused in its endless trek along Snafu's knuckles, then resumed.   
"Want what?" He said, playing at indifference. He was staring fixedly down at his hand now, his jaw working back and forth.   
"This," Eugene said, gesturing angrily between them. "It's too much, it's crushing me. You're crushing me." He clamped his mouth shut, he was skirting too close to a lie. He had to keep that buried deep.  
"Gotta see you through it," Snafu said numbly. He closed his fingers loosely around the rock, dropped his hand down to his side. It still wasn't too late. He could reach out, pull him in, tell him he didn't mean it.   
"See to yourself, Snafu," he bit out between his teeth, and moved around him, walked away. He was trembling, his hands, his breath. He fought to press it down, to find a center to balance himself on. He rejoined Hamm and Peck and hunkered down small and tried to go to sleep. When Snafu came back a little later and didn't settle in beside him, he reminded himself that it was what he'd wanted.  
It all started to slowly slide away after that. The line scarcely moved, and so they continued existing in the same morass of rot and filth until Eugene started to disbelieve the marks his pencil had made along his page. Had it really been less than a month since they relieved the Infantry? He felt like they'd been wandering the same strip of earth for ages. Hamm and Peck kept close to each other, avoided him and Snafu as much as they could. Burgie stayed away too. He was always nearby, watchful, but it was clear he was keeping his distance. And so that left just the two of them, circling each other, starting to hate each other because there wasn't anyone else left to direct it at. Snafu still followed after him, but kept a careful space between them, like a kicked dog might. His eyes were empty; Eugene tried not to look into them. At night when they had to squeeze in together beneath their lean-to, Eugene passed the time by reading through his bible or his letters from Mary.  
Sid hadn't woken up. Mary still wrote about the same things she always had: local gossip, what she was doing to pass the time while she waited on him to come back to her. She was always matter of fact about her feelings, the realities of her life spent in hope of a future event that might never come. Eugene was learning that a heart could break and break as time dragged on, there wasn't ever an end to it. He held her letters carefully safe from the constant rain and ran his eyes along the words and thought uselessly over what he might write to comfort her. There wasn't anything to be said.  
"Don't matter how much you read that thing, s' not gonna say what you want." Eugene looked over at his words; Snafu was watching him, dull-eyed, sitting with his body leaned up against the side of a rock. "Boy ain't ever waking up."  
"Be quiet." The anger was sudden, gratifyingly strong. Peck was staring out at nothing, Hamm was watching them warily. Snafu closed his eyes, and Eugene thought for a moment that would be the end of it, but then he spoke again.  
"Wasting your time trying to change it. Could spend your whole life tossing yourself against it, sleeping next to corpses and sitting in your own shit. He won't care."  
"Shut up," Eugene said coldly. He could feel the last ragged bits of control slipping away.  
His eyes were dark slits, barely seen, but Eugene could just make out the glint of growing malevolence in them. "Doesn't make a bit of difference, not to anybody-"  
"Shut up!"  
"And by the time you give it up, he wouldn't even know you anymore-"  
"Jesus Christ!" He'd crumpled the letter in his hand without realizing it, he threw it down into the mud as he jumped to his feet. "Shut up!"  
"Fuck you!" Snafu yelled, his eyes were wide open now, filled with fury. Eugene didn't really know what he said next, what Snafu said. He just knew he'd like to strike him, hurt him, anything to stop his words. They were so locked together, so absorbed by their solitary struggle against each other, that Eugene didn't notice Peck until he was already past him, was halfway up the rocky slope. He heard Hamm yell after him, spun around angrily.  
"Peck, sit down!" He shouted, but the man didn't stop. He clambered up until he was standing exposed and open along the ridge. He leveled his gun and started shooting out at nothing, yelling mindlessly. It all passed in shocking blur after that. Eugene remembered huddling with Hamm behind a rock and trying to pull Peck back, remembered hating Sid for leaving him here alone, helpless and useless. Then he was being pulled back, struggling, Snafu tossing him against the rocks. He tried to get up and Snafu gripped him by his poncho and shoved him back.  
"Stay down," he said, and then something landed by their feet and Eugene looked up and saw Hamm, eyes open and unseeing, blood running down his face. Peck was laying beside him, as silent as Hamm, but still breathing.   
"You stupid bastard," Eugene breathed. He ripped free of Snafu, pulled his glove off and laid his hand carefully along Hamm's face. He was empty. Rage and sorrow welled up, he turned and glared at Peck. "You fucking idiot," he spat, voice going reedy. Hamm's cheek was still warm beneath his palm, he couldn't bear to remove it.   
Snafu didn't look at him, moved to Peck's side. "Peck," he said. Eugene watched him curve a hand around the juncture of Peck's neck and shoulder, put his other hand flat on Peck's chest. "You're okay, Peck. You're okay." Peck's hands were shaking, he grabbed on to Snafu's fingers where they were settled along his chest, and Snafu let him. Hot, bitter jealousy flooded through Eugene; he looked away, focused on pulling his glove back on. _Nothing with a heartbeat,_ he reminded himself, looking down at Hamm's face.  
"Hey." He looked up in time to see Mac crouch down against a rock a little ways above them. "What the fuck happened?" Snafu was still talking to Peck, low and soothing. Eugene knew he should be thankful that he was still capable of it. He didn't answer, it was clear what had happened. He and Snafu had ruined them both.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two chapters again. I will probably continue to post two a week, because honestly the story is complete, and going back and cleaning up and editing the chapters is not as time intensive as I thought it would be.

A few days later he stood beside Snafu and slightly behind Burgie as they walked together into the major's tent. He was talking with his officers, and scarcely glanced their way when they entered. They saluted and stood at attention and stared straight ahead while the men in the tent ignored them, went on talking. Stumpy was there; he gave them a little nod before turning his attention back to the major. He was a good enough man, but couldn't compare to Captain Jones.  
They were like magnets of the same pole, the three of them. They stood close together because they had to in the small space, and because they had no one else they could stand with. But Eugene could feel the air quivering between them with the need to pull away from each other, to escape. He wondered what was to blame for it, what had started the slow growing repulsion they felt for each other. Was it when Jay had shipped home and they had been reduced? Was it when Sid left him alone, left them all vulnerable? Was it what had happened to Bill? Whichever started it, Eugene knew the fault was laid at his door.  
"Sergeant Burgin," the major said, finally turning around to address them. "Intel says the Jap's are retreating, pulling out of Shuri Castle." His eyes were cold, he didn't bother to hide his disdain as he looked them over. "I'm sending the three of you in to capture it."  
"Sir?" Burgie said. Eugene kept his face stiffly fixed as he looked around the room at the watching officers. Their expressions ranged from indifferent to amused to disgusted. Stumpy's mouth was grimly set.   
"It's time K Company's pets started earning their keep," Gustafson said. "You weren't brought here to trot around like goddamn mascots." He watched Burgie for a reaction, looked displeased when he didn't get one. "You shouldn't encounter much resistance. And you have this one for if you do," and he looked over at Eugene. "Untouchable, isn't that right?"   
He knew, or he at least suspected. They all did. Eugene stared back at him, desperately trying to work out what their motive was. Were they trying to get rid of them? Were they hoping that he would admit the truth? Either way, there was only one answer to give. "That's right, Major Gustafson, Sir," he said evenly.  
The major chuckled flatly and turned away. "Lieutenant Stanley will provide the necessary details. Dismissed."   
Stumpy led them out, gestured for them to follow along after him as they moved away from the tent. "Major General del Valle wants the castle captured immediately. It's true, the Japs seem to have abandoned it. The rest of the company will be following along behind you boys." Burgie didn't speak, and Stumpy stopped, swung around to face them. "I fought against it," he said quietly. "But it was already decided." He clapped Burgie on the shoulder. "I've seen what you can do, this isn't outside your scope. Let's go."  
A few hours later they were crossing the space between the lines, Burgie on point. He'd had to pull rank on Eugene to get him to stop arguing with him over it, and so Eugene found himself following along behind him, Snafu at his side. The men of their company had offered them so many cigarettes and words of encouragement as they passed them on their way out that Eugene had started to feel a little dazed. Now they moved silently, Eugene and Snafu with their guns up and ready, Burgie with a steady hand against the side of his glasses. Eugene was braced and ready for the Japs to pour artillery fire down on them, keeping a running marker of the nearest cover points as they went along, but nothing came. They crested the far ridge under complete, eerie silence, and Eugene looked at the ruins of the castle. Only the furthest reach of the imagination could look across that vast stretch of rubble and see where a building once stood. There wasn't anything left of it but scattered stone columns standing uneven and unsound, the vague patterns of paved floors. Burgie signaled and they started their careful approach.   
It had been all but completely abandoned. There was a scattering of gunfire, the last of a rear guard, but Burgie shot sharp and quick, and then even that light harassment was gone. The Nips must have pulled a night march, that was the only explanation. Eugene slowed, felt his attention falter as they came into the remains of a courtyard and he looked up at the blackened corpse of a huge tree.  
It was still beautiful. Even charred, contracted in on itself, it was a thing of beauty. Eugene felt the loss of what it must have once been move slowly through him. He thought about the tree that stood alone in front of Haldane's home, how he had watched it shift and change with the seasons. Countless others must have stood beneath this tree and felt the same awe, how time pressed differently on each living creature. He moved to stand in front of it as Snafu and Burgie moved outwards, slowly sweeping the courtyard. In the end, it was the tree that saved him, when liquid fire came raining down on them.  
The atmosphere grew suddenly heated, changing so quickly that the air seemed to push against him. The strangeness of the sensation was his only warning, and he instinctively pressed himself flat against the ashen tree. Then balls of flame were falling to the ground all around him, except it wasn't flame but something else, something denser. He heard Burgie shouting, looked to see both him and Snafu diving for what cover they could find, the unearthly fire was melting the stone where it hit, releasing a sulfur-like smell. Burgie was shooting at something, Snafu was yelling, his face turned towards Eugene. Then he heard a loud crack, looked up to see that the tree was burning, burning again. There was a long, distended groan, and then it was tipping, falling in towards him. He ran forward, dove, rolled, and the tree fell with a crash down after him, flames licking close enough to sear skin.   
He had miraculously managed to hold on to his gun, and he lifted it and shot in near panic at the figure he suddenly spotted, emerging from the cover of rubble, arm lifted. Fire, or something like it, was roiling in the air all around the mutant. It started to bunch and gather around his hand, and then one of Snafu's rocks exploded against the remains of the column beside him and stone flew outward and the column collapsed and the mutant leaped away, an unnatural burst of speed, a trail of liquid fire bursting up in his wake. A red beam shot out and drilled into the ground beneath his feet and he stumbled.   
"Get him down!" Burgie shouted, and Eugene rolled back to a crouch as Snafu and Burgie worked together to control the mutant, cleverly placed explosions and beams destroying the ground beneath his feet, detonations in the air beside him keeping him off balance. "Sledge, we're only gonna get one shot."   
Eugene knew exactly what he meant, pulled his gloves off and let them drop along with his gun. After all, what use were bullets or charged rocks against a creature whose very skin seemed to drip fire? They didn't have the time to find out what it would take. He moved around the burning tree, advanced carefully, dodging melted stone and minding Snafu and Burgie's attacks. The mutant was still releasing bolts of flame, from his hands and from seemingly random points on his body, but they were haphazard and unaimed. The air grew dense and scorching hot as he drew closer, his whole body wanting to recoil back from the heat, but he pushed forward. One of Snafu's rocks went off directly above the mutant's head, the force of the explosion knocking him forward and onto his knees, and Eugene lunged.   
His head was the only part of his body free of the corona of flame, and so Eugene grabbed him roughly by his hair, shoved the palm of his free hand flat against his face. And he knew him, that same dreadful and glorious knowing of another, understanding beyond love or hate. Tadashi, who's very core was defined by loss, who viewed pain as a personal failure that he had never managed to master. Tadashi, who barely understood his own powers, having been collected and sent to live in a training stable when they first manifested. There he only tapped into his abilities as directed, and under the strictest supervision. Secretly, he thought of himself as a child of the sun, shedding heat and luminescence, his body a furnace of endless energy. The sun only existed to create, and to destroy.   
Tadashi fell backwards, heat flaring up even more intensely, throwing out a hand that slapped down along Eugene's side. But Eugene knew what he was trying, and changed himself to meet it, flesh converting to fire, so that when Tadashi shot off a stream of liquid flame it met with like matter. It was terrible, what he would have to do to end this.  
His hand was still pressed against Tadashi's face. He released his own bolt of fire, and Tadashi instinctively shifted himself in response, skin and bone giving way beneath Eugene's palm. He didn't know how to finely control the shift, had never been allowed to explore it the way he wanted. It only took a breath of time, and he had consumed himself. All power originated in the mind, after all, and Tadashi had given his up to the fire. Eugene grabbed on to the thermal heat his skin was giving off and thrust it downwards so that he rocketed away, propelled through the air. It was clumsily done, and he ended up landing in a heap back beside the burning tree, but he had managed to make a decent distance between himself and the eruption of uncontrolled roiling flame that was Tadashi's body. Gouts of fire shot out erratically in every direction, and the heat was still growing.   
"Back, move back!" He shouted. He turned and ran, checking quick to make sure Snafu and Burgie were running too. The heat was becoming incredible. They hadn't run for long before the explosion slammed into their backs, throwing them forward and down hard into the dirt. Eugene threw his hands over his head and prayed to God that Burgie and Snafu were alright while chunks of stone and debris rained down on him.   
He lifted his head as the world quieted, saw Snafu and Burgie hesitantly doing the same. He looked back at where Tadashi's body had been, but there was nothing left.   
"It's a good death." He looked up, saw Tadashi standing above him, looking back towards the rubble of Shuri Castle. "To burn out like a star."

* * *

  
Tadashi was strong. Eugene threw one stone after another on the wall, trying to keep him contained and set apart, but the man pushed through them, battered them aside easily. It was starting to make Eugene feel more than a little mad, and it had only been half a day. It wasn't a struggle for dominance, simply a refusal to be locked away. Eugene couldn't really blame him, not knowing what his life had been like up to the point of his death, but it meant that he found himself constantly engaged in a sort of mental chess game, loaded up with animosity. It made it difficult to focus on what was happening around him.   
He had been so distracted that Burgie'd had to answer for him, when they were called to the major's tent and questioned about their battle at the castle and the nature of Eugene's new powers. Tadashi had stood behind Eugene and sneered at the major's florid features and soft middle. Eugene was aware that Snafu was watching him, that they were all watching him, but hadn't been able to focus on anything but keeping his expression closed and ignoring Tadashi. Now he stood at Eugene's shoulder, looking Snafu and Burgie over critically as they sat and ate their chow in uneasy silence.  
"Burgin would have gone far among our kind," he said eventually. "He is disciplined, far more so than you," and he cast a disparaging look at Eugene. "But even you might have been shaped into an acceptable warrior. This other one though, that you are so willing to lose yourself for," he made a sharp, dismissive motion with his hand. "He would never have left the stable."  
"His name is Merriell, and you don't know a damn thing about him," Eugene snapped, instantly furious. Tadashi stared calmly, unmoved.  
"I know him well," he responded, and of course he did, he knew everything Eugene knew. Eugene glared back at him, distantly aware that Snafu and Burgie were watching him again. "It's unnatural, to lust for another man." He said it dispassionately, dark eyes unblinking. He didn't really believe it, Eugene knew, it was just the rhetoric of the times. "Another failure of character."  
"And what the hell about you was ever natural," Eugene said, but Tadashi just looked away.  
"I am a weapon, as are you. Whether I am natural or unnatural is irrelevant, so long as I serve my purpose. To imagine that you might be more is the error."  
"You can't lie to me. I know you never stopped wanting more."  
"I cannot claim a perfect spirit. But I knew my purpose." Tadashi looked back over at him. "I saw your major's face, as Burgin explained your abilities. My abilities. They will make you into the same weapon as I was." He frowned at Eugene. "Why does it upset you so when I say this? It's what you've wanted."  
Jesus Christ, how long until he left him alone and in peace? Eugene hadn't touched him for very long, but he knew he would probably be stuck with him for the next handful of weeks at the very least. "Just be quiet, please be quiet," he ground out, squeezing his eyes shut, throwing more stones on the wall, building it up as strong as he could.  
"Sledgehammer."  
He opened his eyes to Burgie, crouched in front of him, mouth drawn tight with worry. Behind him, Snafu had moved to the edge of the lean-to, was looking out and away.  
"You gotta stop doing that," Burgie said gently. "Other folk are gonna start noticing."  
"Doing what?" Eugene asked. Tadashi was gone for now, back behind the wall.  
"Speaking in Japanese. Did you not know you were doing it?" He was stone-faced as always, but Eugene couldn't forget his eyes and the expression in them. "Is the Jap-"  
"Don't talk about him," Eugene said warningly. He turned away from Burgie's concern, from the quick burning glance Snafu cast his way.   
It was easier to just not talk. Eugene couldn't trust the words that might drop from his own mouth, and anyways he didn't see the use in speaking anymore. It wouldn't change anything. Tadashi had been right, and gloated over that fact, as the days wore on and Eugene found himself burning Japs out of holes and pillboxes, raining fire down on distant objectives, a tool with just one purpose. He knew if he let himself think on it too much it would break him, so he let Tadashi rationalize it for him. Tadashi reveled in the freedom with which they were allowed to use his powers; the Japs had always kept him on a tight leash, had feared him and his abilities too much to make use out of him the way he hoped for. He was only ever pleased with the destruction they wrought together; he was rabidly loyal, but people and country were an abstract concept to Tadashi. As far as he was concerned, the men they killed together were just proof of the vastness of his power.  
Snafu followed close after him and kept his own silence. Eugene could scarcely stand to look at him these days, his eyes close to horrified, expression openly troubled. Eugene didn't want to know what he saw. It was easier to look away, to scan the landscape carefully with Tadashi, search out someone else to kill. He started to dread the day when Tadashi and his powers would disappear and he would be left alone with all the things he had done.   
They were mopping up now, but Eugene knew that Okinawa was just the beginning. Everyone knew. The whole of Japan lay to the north, and no one expected to live through that fight. Eugene just hoped that Andy would be able to get Snafu and Burgie out. But he didn't want to go home anymore. The reckoning that would bring about was too painful to consider.  
"What is that?" Tadashi asked, and Eugene pulled himself back from his thoughts. He was standing with Snafu, watching the marines pick through corpses for trophies, something of value. But he heard it now, the sound of a baby crying. His eyes followed the noise to its source, towards the mostly intact building they were standing beside. He and Snafu exchanged a cautious glance.   
"Might be a trap," he dared to say. He couldn't remember when he'd last spoke. Snafu looked so goddamn tired, eyes drooping, haggard and small. It lit a flame of hurt somewhere inside Eugene.  
"Burn it," Tadashi said. "It's the safest course." But Snafu was already turning, moving towards the hut.   
They went in together, stood side by side and stared down at the squalling baby. It was still a trap of some sort, Eugene supposed, walking in and having all those distant feelings surge up, remind you of things it was easier not to think about. He was just as incapable of reaching down and caring for this crying child as he was of reaching over and pulling Snafu close.  
"What the hell is the matter with you two?" Eugene hardly noticed Mac, watched vacantly as he picked the baby up and walked out with it, Snafu following after him with scarcely a backwards glance. Tadashi stood beside him, thankfully silent. Eugene turned to go, but a metallic, musical tinkle stopped him in his tracks. He fought down Tadashi's urge to respond with fire, turned slowly instead, moving warily into the wreckage of the home. There was a woman lying there, amidst the rubble. She lifted a trembling hand to him when he stepped into view.  
"Please," she said, her Japanese oddly accented, words slurred with pain. "I have been waiting." Her hand twitched. "You must come closer."  
"This is the true trap," Tadashi said. "Kill her." Eugene ignored him, stared down at the woman. There was something about the way she was looking at him, something beyond the obvious suffering in her face.  
"I will not harm you. I am incapable." She peeled her kimono back, the movement slow and halting, showed him the ruin of her body. "Come closer to me, I beg you."  
"You want an end to the pain." He'd stopped carrying his rifle weeks ago, when it became clear that they would only be using him for Tadashi's powers, but he still had his sidearm.   
"No. That is the price we must all pay." Her voice was fading away, a breathless, stumbling mumble. "Please. I must touch you." Eugene drew back. She knew him somehow, her stare avid.   
"Kill her." Tadashi sounded frightened. "She wishes to use you for her own purpose."  
"Aren't you tired of it being just the two of us?" Eugene asked sarcastically. After all, why shouldn't he do it? He felt his heart start to trip in his chest. When was the last time someone had reached out to him, fearless and understanding? Only Snafu had ever been so blessedly stupid, and Eugene could never do that to him. But she was already dying. And she knew, somehow she knew, exactly what she was offering him. He pulled off his gloves, moved towards her outstretched hand.  
"You're weak, and a fool," Tadashi spat. "She had a use in mind for you."  
"So what if she does?" He didn't care anymore. He was tired of touching only to steal and silence another soul. If it was a trap, maybe it would still be sweet, even if just for a moment.  
"Thank you," she said, gasping now, raising her other hand, dropping the small musical toy she had been holding.  
"My name is Eugene." He didn't know what compelled him to say it, why it suddenly mattered that she know him in some small way. He lifted his hands toward her face. She nodded.   
"Eugene." He cupped her face at the same moment she slid her hands, cool and rough and gentle, along the sides of his neck.   
It had never felt like this before, a slow blooming of another person into him, no sudden rush of overwhelming thoughts and memories. Maybe it was because she was willing. She unfolded endlessly, a geometric rose, clever and complex. Her name was Kiyo, and she had known all her potential endings since she was a girl, when her powers first manifested. He had been one of them from the very beginning, one of her most feared deaths, because of the incredible pain she felt in her body and her heart when she traveled that path. But as time moved forward and she laid the weight of her happiness against the many futures she saw, she came to believe that he would be her wisest ending.   
And she had been happy. She had been happy because she chose it, and because she knew the value of the fleeting moments she passed through. The past was meaningless, the present ephemeral. The future was vast and full of promise, both joyous and dark.  
She shook her head disapprovingly. "You are heavy with regrets. I will try to demonstrate the error of this as our time together allows. But now, you must help him. The moment is here." And Eugene saw what she wanted from him, why she had chosen this end.   
He dropped his hands from Kiyo's corpse, ran out the door, stumbling down the steps and past Snafu. When he saw the group of marines in front of him, saw the taller one lifting his gun, settling it along his shoulder, he lit the furnace waiting beneath his skin and shot himself forward. He slammed into the marine, knocking him to the ground and blowing past him. His landing was graceless, nearly falling and having to catch himself on a bit of raised concrete, but he managed to keep his feet and turn around to face the small group of marines before they could react. He'd ruined another pair of boots.  
"Oh, you gotta be fucking-" One of the men started to say, his words cutting off as he saw Eugene, recognized him. They gaped at him, astonished and outraged and afraid.   
"Don't touch him," Eugene said, not looking at the boy behind him.  
"Why not? He's a Jap," one of them said. The man that Eugene had bowled over climbed angrily to his feet.  
"The fuck is your problem?" He yelled. "We're here to kill them."  
"Not this one," Eugene answered steadily. He let the flames lick along his bare hands, stared them down. One by one their gazes dropped; they turned away, muttering invectives against him. He didn't care, just let the fire go and restored his flesh, then turned around to go to him. Isamu.   
He had collapsed back against the side of the building, shocked and bewildered, and he cowered away as Eugene approached. "Don't fear me." He tried to make his voice gentle, but knew he only managed to sound distant. The fact that he spoke Japanese was enough to get Isamu to look up at him, but he didn't otherwise change his posture. Eugene glanced warily around, there were too many men watching, anger growing and pressing out the fear. He had to get Isamu turned over to more official hands, and quickly. "Get up," he said, harsh and urgent, and Isamu flinched back. Eugene sighed, consulted quickly with Kiyo. "This is the beginning of your journey," he finally said, careful to mimic the inflections that Kiyo always used when she told Isamu tales of the many journeys he might one day undertake. Stories that had thrilled him, because he knew they were more than tales told to placate a child.  
Isamu stared up at him, grief and hope, and Eugene nodded in confirmation to his silent question, gestured sharply with his hand. He stood, and Eugene moved around to grip him firmly by his arm and propel him down the path, shooting warning glances at the marines as they passed them.   
"Thank you," Kiyo said, walking beside him. She didn't look at the destruction around her. She only had eyes for Isamu. He was the future, after all. "Because of you, both of my grandchildren will live."  
"I can't do anything for him, once I turn him over," Eugene cautioned.  
"I know. But he has this chance. It is all any of us can hope for." She glanced over at him, her face serene, her eyes warm. "He has many roads now. Do you see them?"   
Eugene felt something in his chest crack and shatter like glass. If he was alone, if he could, he would let himself collapse and give in to the relief and beauty of it. Because he did see them, all the paths, straight and twisting, narrow and wide, that stretched out in front of Isamu. He saw them everywhere, gathering uncountable among every man he passed. He saw his own. Kiyo laid a soothing hand on his arm. "You see? Our futures are infinite."  
He was next to useless, after that. He was aware, vaguely, of Burgie defending him, of Snafu keeping close and menacing away anyone who tried to approach, ask too many questions. But he couldn't care about any of that. He was too busy traveling roads.  
The distant futures were innumerable and nearly incomprehensible, the events and decisions and deaths and births that led to them impossible to track. Kiyo urged him against traveling too far into the future: that way lay madness. It was best to track a single person or event, try to tease out a path that led to the desired outcome. Eugene chose to focus his efforts on Haldane's home, but even that proved to be impossible.  
He saw futures where the estate grew even larger than it was now, became a school in truth. Mutants came and went through its doors, called it home for a time and then went back out into the world. He saw futures where the estate was destroyed, by fire, by angry, rabidly fearful people, by giant mechanical monstrosities. He saw futures where it was just a home, Haldane's purpose for the place lost or abandoned.  
He saw Haldane leaving the estate and never returning, ceding his mission to Burgie, to Bill, to Eugene himself. He saw Haldane remaining for the rest of his life at the estate, most often surrounded by students, but also alone, completely alone, the rooms dim and empty. He often saw Captain Jones there, saw him moving through nearly every room of the house, as if it had become his home too.   
There were many futures where Burgie and Florence were together, but just as many where they were apart. But in every future they loved each other. Eugene could scarcely believe the thin thread between joy and misery their future was hung upon. But then, his and Snafu's seemed to be dangling from a similar spinning thread.  
Snafu walked into the office where Eugene was sitting and talking to the woman. He didn't know her yet, but in this future he knew her well, respected and admired her. Snafu ambled up behind her and leaned down, cupping his hand along the back of her neck and tipping her face up just enough to drop a kiss on the corner of her mouth. She smiled distractedly up at him, and Snafu looked over at Eugene, a light touch of his eyes, friendly. Eugene felt the blow twice, his own sharp digging pain, and the dull ache that this future Eugene felt, still felt, covered up and tried to ignore every day. They were still friends, but Snafu had moved on, had given all those gifts to someone else. Eugene pulled away, he didn't want to live that way, how had he come to accept a life like that? He tracked back down the path, followed a different forking way -  
\- Snafu walked into the office where Eugene was sitting and talking to the woman. He didn't know her yet, but in this future he knew her well, respected and admired her. Snafu ambled up behind her and leaned down, cupping his hand along the back of her neck and tipping her face up just enough to drop a kiss on the corner of her mouth. She smiled distractedly up at him, and Snafu looked over at Eugene and his eyes stuck and latched on, still wanting. He was trying to let go, they both were, but it wasn't working, and Eugene was so fucking tired of hating and loving and being alone and he squeezed his gloved hands together to remind himself to keep it all covered. God, how was this one worse than the last? Eugene traced back again, further back this time, an earlier divergence -   
\- He didn't recognize the room, or the bed. He was fully clothed, gloves and long sleeves, but Snafu wasn't, and Eugene had him pressed down against thin white sheets. He was open-mouthed, moaning into the pillow, senseless with pleasure, and Eugene was telling him how much he wanted to kiss him, taste him. Eugene was working him with his hand, he knew exactly what to do and how to touch him to turn him limp or make him shake. He flipped the edge of the sheet up so that it covered the skin along Snafu's ribs, so that he could lean down and bite him there and Snafu cursed and moaned and pushed against Eugene's hand and Jesus Christ how had they managed to get to this? But no, this future, when he pulled back a bit, was equally awful. Bill was missing, no one could discover what had happened to him. Haldane had changed, closed the estate and disappeared. Mutants were feared and hated like never before and Eugene and Snafu had been running, always running. They had lost contact with everyone else, and it was too dangerous to gather in large groups anyways, and they had each other but they weren't safe.  
"You will never find what you are seeking, because it does not exist," Kiyo said. "There is no perfect future." It was dark, the middle of the night, and Eugene was laying in a hole beside Snafu. "Heed its warnings, as well as its promises, but don't lose yourself to its many paths."  
"I have to find the best way forward for us. For my friends."  
"Every moment you spend chasing a future, you lose here, with those you care for. The paths close and disappear through inaction."  
Eugene looked over at Snafu, struck by her words. She was right, he had been sleep-walking through his days. How many chances had he wasted, trying to map the future, while Snafu continued on alone? Snafu was laying on his side, turned away from him. He wasn't sleeping though, Eugene could tell by the way he was breathing and the line of his body that he wasn't asleep. Eugene turned towards him, laid a tentative hand on his arm. Snafu tensed and curled away. "Snafu. I'm sorry."  
"Gonna talk more nonsense at me? Go to sleep, Sledge."  
"I'm not talking nonsense. Have I been talking nonsense?" Jesus, he probably had been. "I'm sorry about that, too." Snafu didn't move, was holding himself stiff and still. "Mer, please. I shouldn't have said those things, alright? I shouldn't have said a lot of things." He touched a gloved finger to the back of his neck, stroked gently along his spine up to his hairline. Snafu shivered, then turned around to face him. He studied him intently, his own features only dimly visible, and Eugene cupped his face in his hand, traced his jawline with his little finger, his cheekbone with his thumb. "I can't seem to say any of the things I really want to," he murmured.  
Snafu's mouth twisted, his hands curled tight into Eugene's shirt. Eugene tugged him in close and Snafu ducked his head, hiding his face away against Eugene's chest. "Can't do this anymore, Eugene. I'm dying every day." His voice was jagged gravel. Eugene wrapped his arms around him, dared to kiss the top of his head. He knew he was talking about them, but not just them. He was talking about what they had become, what Okinawa and the war had made them.  
"You're not gonna have to," he promised him, because he could see them, all the threads were converging towards one momentous decision. He saw the flash of light, saw the smoke billow out across the whole of the city, saw it rise up and up and hang swollen over the ruin and wreckage as lives blinked out of existence in the tens of thousands beneath it.


	17. Chapter 17

Merriell offered the bottle back to Burgie and dropped it carelessly by his side when Burgie waved him off. He settled his weight on his palms and tipped his head back, watching as another firework shot up into the sky and burst apart.  
"It's no kind of show," he said dismissively. "Not after you've had De L'Eau put one on for you."  
"Just enjoy it, Snafu," Burgie said mildly.   
"Enjoy what? Watching these idiots run around, trip over their own fucking feet?" It didn't matter that he was actually enjoying it a bit, what mattered was annoying Burgie. "Enjoy-" A sudden warm weight cut him off, had him looking down. Eugene, curled up on the rock below, had leaned his head over, was resting his temple against Merriell's knee. Merriell sat forward and craned his neck around so he could look down into his face. "Alright there, cher?" Eugene blinked up at him, large dark eyes.   
"Mer," he said, like he hadn't seen him in ages. He smiled, warm and affectionate.  
"Hey, sugar." He watched him carefully, he didn't have that dopey look he usually walked around with these days, but he still didn't seem quite right. But he was looking at him, actually seeing him, that was a good sign. Merriell looked over at Burgie. That had been the one good thing about Eugene losing his damn mind; Merriell and Burgie had closed ranks and pushed back to back to protect themselves and him, and it had been enough to end the rift that Okinawa had made between them. Now Burgie gave him a small shake of his head.  
"Don't get your hopes up. We'll just keep taking it slow." He slid down off the rock he had been sitting on, cracked his neck and looked towards the camp. "I'm gonna do a quick round, then try and turn in."  
"How you think that'll work out for you?"  
"Not too good, probably. Don't stay out here too late." Merriell just grunted and watched Burgie make his way down and away. He hopped off his perch, reached down and tugged on Eugene's arm.  
"C'mon, Sledgehammer." Eugene stood up and followed along after him, tractable and easy, like he had been ever since he touched that woman. They'd had a hell of a time getting the story out of Eugene, and Merriell still wasn't sure exactly what had happened. Those first few weeks Eugene had been gone, a fucking zombie, it had nearly ruined Merriell, watching and worrying over him, not able to reach him no matter what he tried. And then one night out of nowhere Eugene turned over and touched him, spoke to him with a soft, open tone of voice that Merriell had never heard from him before. Eugene always held something back.   
It hadn't lasted. The next morning he was back to seeing things and Merriell had felt himself break all over again. But Eugene started to come out of it more and more often, started to be less of a drooling idiot. But even when he was making sense, he still managed to baffle the hell out of Merriell. One time, he told him that he was beautiful. Right in front of Burgie. They'd been all three sitting together, as normal as you please, and Eugene had looked over at him, spoke all soft-voiced. "You're so beautiful, that never changes." Merriell had just gaped at him, and Burgie had coughed, then shook, then burst out laughing. Merriell had tried to brush it off as more of the same horseshit that seemed to plop out of the man's mouth all the time, but Eugene was undeniably there, his eyes focused and fastened on him.  
Burgie figured it was just a matter of waiting on the mutant's powers to leave him. And it was better than how he'd been before, closed off and dead-eyed, throwing fire every which way without a blink or the slightest change of expression. But it had been more than two months, and Merriell was starting to wonder how much longer he would have to put up with this listless, passive version of his boy.  
Not that it didn't have its good points, having Sledge follow along wherever he led. Like having a pretty toy he got to haul around with him. Most nights, Merriell took him out away from the camp, to a stretch of rocks that a body could hear the ocean from, if they were lucky and the night was quiet. They sat side by side and Merriell smoked and imagined what they might be talking about if Eugene wasn't so goddamn crazy.  
That's where they were headed now. Merriell figured there wasn't much of a chance of them hearing the water, what with the fireworks and the celebrating, but he moved towards his preferred rock anyways, had just started to clamber up, when Eugene's hands came up and settled on his sides, right above the bones of his hip. Merriell froze, then nearly fell back when Eugene pulled on him gently, the press of his fingers sending streaks of heat all through him. Eugene drew him back against him, lined up from hip to shoulder.  
"Sugar?" He murmured, close to his ear. "That's a new one." Merriell felt a tingle all across the side of his face from the faint huff of his breath, the hum of his voice.  
"S' not new. You just ain't been listening." He fought against enjoying it too much. It was just another spell of sanity, most likely, and then he'd be gone again. But Eugene lifted a hand from his side and settled it along his neck and kissed the back of it, and Merriell couldn't stop himself from tilting his head and imagining his lips on him. Eugene wrapped his other arm around his waist and kissed along his own fingers like he was imagining it too. "War's over. The Jap's surrendered."  
"I know."  
"Course you do." He pulled free and hoisted himself onto the rock, heard and felt Eugene following after. He sat cross-legged and lit a smoke as Eugene settled in beside him, pulling one knee up to rest his arm against. "Want your pipe?"   
"Yeah, thanks." Merriell packed it for him, gripping his cigarette with the corner of his lips so that he could bring the pipe up to his mouth and light it. The smoke rolled in, he liked to think that Eugene's mouth would have that same deep flavor. He handed it off to Eugene, who'd been observing him with a funny sort of expression. He took the pipe and puffed on it distractedly. Merriell stared at him, it was too goddamn good to see him awake and alert, to have him look back. "You've been looking after me, huh?"  
"Sledge, you've been next to useless to me, 'cept as something nice to look at." Eugene gave a little laugh and glanced down, embarrassed, and Merriell felt a thrill of hope. Maybe it would stick, this time.   
"I tried, I promise I tried. But I kept getting sucked in, kept getting pulled down different roads." Merriell groaned and looked away.  
"Merde, don't start with the roads again, you been boring us to tears going on about all the damn roads."  
"I'm tired of them, too." Eugene's arm came around him again, and Merriell decided to savor it. He slumped against him, let Eugene keep him upright. "I just wanted to come back here, I swear." Merriell didn't really understand what the hell he was talking about, but he didn't care, just closed his eyes and let his voice move through him.   
They didn't speak after that. Merriell took his time with his smoke, trying to make the moment stretch, last a little longer. But it eventually burnt down to nothing and he flicked the singed remains of his cigarette down in front of Eugene and turned to look at him expectantly.  
Eugene's eyes were piercing, seeing right through him. He reached down and picked the butt back up, ground it out and stuck it in his pocket. "You're gonna start a fire one of these days."  
"We're on a goddamn rock." Shit, seemed like there should be a sunrise or a chorus of fucking angels singing. "You're really back." Eugene's lips pulled back and he tugged with his arm, encouraging Merriell to lean back in against him. He set his pipe aside and reached for Merriell's hand, played nervously with his fingers.  
"I am, and I wanna be right here, not in the future or the past. But I need to say," he stopped, closed his gloved fingers like clamps around Merriell's own. "I'm so damn sorry, Snaf."  
"Quit that," Merriell mumbled. He was starting to feel a little stupid, numb with warmth from Eugene's touch, the consolation of knowing he was back. "You know how many times you've apologized to me these last few months?"  
"But you haven't believed me." Merriell didn't answer, just stuck his nose against Eugene's chest and sucked in a big breath. "Why should you, I know I've not been making any sense."  
"It don't matter." Of course it fucking mattered, but Merriell didn't want to talk about it. They'd be at it all night, if they started apologizing for all the things they had done to hurt each other. He spoke quick before Eugene could start in again. "Know the future now, Sledge?"  
"No," Eugene answered, sounding like he wanted to laugh. "That's the thing." He shifted suddenly, moving Merriell, guiding him down, and just like that Merriell found himself on his back with Eugene stretched out above him. Eugene settled a portion of his weight against Merriell's hips and chest and Merriell thrust up mindlessly, not even meaning to, and felt shock zip down his spine when Eugene ground against him in response. Eugene propped himself on his elbow, traced his fingers along Merriell's collarbone. The strip of bone white hair over his brow was easy to see from this angle, a marker of their own past now, Merriell supposed. He'd always look at it and remember how it happened, what came after. "All I know is that there's more than one way for this to end. I didn't really believe that, before." He flashed a look at Merriell, admission and regret.  
Fuck if he was going to waste a chance like this. Merriell reached down, pulled Eugene tight against him as his rolled his hips up again. He could feel him through the layers of clothing that separated them, but not nearly well enough to satisfy. "Just one ending, far as I'm concerned." _You, no one else, it's you_.   
Eugene dropped his head, pressed his forehead against Merriell's shoulder as he moved against him, his hand drifting up to bury itself in his hair. "I want that too, Snafu."  
"Goddamn. Look at me." Eugene lifted his head back up, stared down at him. Merriell had gotten off almost solely the past two years on images of what he'd like to do to Eugene, what he'd like Eugene to do to him. Those fantasies hadn't included being brought to the fucking brink by a few humps and the intensity of Eugene's eyes, but that was where Merriell found himself. He groaned and surged up, wanting his lips so desperately he didn't care about the consequences, what was so bad about it anyway, he would pass out for a bit and Eugene would know how absolutely Merriell belonged to him. Eugene's hand tightened in his hair, holding him down.  
"Easy," he gasped, still moving with him, they were starting to rock against each other with purpose now. "Gonna have to strap you down." Merriell just groaned again and gripped him harder by his hips.  
It didn't seem possible for it to get them anywhere, but somehow they managed to catch the feel of each other even through the layers, managed to strain against one another with just enough of a consistent sort of rhythm. Merriell watched Eugene's eyes sharpen, sharpen, then flutter closed, watched his mouth, drawn tightly shut, suddenly go slack. Then he was saying his name, hips going erratically, and Merriell bit down on an embarrassing sound and threw his head back as he came, sparking all over with the feeling, relief so strong it was almost painful. He fought against letting his eyes slide shut, watching Eugene instead, how he sagged against him and drifted with it, dazed, then lifted his eyes to stare back down at him. Eugene smiled, then dipped his head down to kiss along his chest.  
"I've missed you," he said, words a little muffled by clothing and too much sincerity. Merriell, already boneless, felt like he could melt away to nothing.  
"Missed you too." Eugene's head settled close to his heart, and Merriell wrapped one arm around him and threw the other over his head and closed his eyes. There was a stain of dissatisfaction that he tried to ignore, but mostly he just felt blissfully content. It wasn't what he was really craving, but by that same token it was everything. He had everything. They lay wrapped up together for longer than they should, then disentangled slowly, stiffly, straightened themselves up and went back to camp.

* * *

  
Scarcely a month later, they were in China.  
Merriell still didn't understand what exactly they were doing there, or what, more importantly, they wanted the three of them there for. If this was somehow part of Haldane's plan to get them home, then they sure were taking the scenic route. Florence's letters to Eugene, vague as they were, had been full of assurances that Andy was doing better, that everyone was doing better. They didn't know what to make of any of it, but agreed it was best to just keep on like normal until Haldane told them otherwise. Florence didn't write to Burgie anymore, something the three of them collectively pretended not to notice.  
"Why're these idiots so happy to see us?" He asked as they tried to make their way through Tientsin. It was slow going, because the streets were packed with locals, smiling and cheering and waving flags. Their ultimate destination was Peking, where Merriell understood there was an entire section of the city given over to the Marines.  
"We're here to get rid of the Japs," Burgie answered. "Course they're happy to see us."  
"Nips already surrendered. Seems excessive."  
"Think it's gonna be like this all the way to Peking?" Eugene asked, looking around at the sea of people, keen and curious.  
"Let's hope not," Burgie said. "It'll take us twice as long to get there if the crowds keep up like this."  
"Fuck, I'm ready to stretch out on a real bed," Merriell groaned. He drifted closer to Eugene, bumped against his hip. "What about you, Sledgehammer? Feel like stretching out?" He watched Eugene flush sweet and pink all along his cheeks, slanted Burgie a satisfied grin.   
"Can it, Snaf," Burgie said, not displeased, but still short. "I wouldn't count on having any privacy if I were you." Merriell just shrugged and stayed close to Eugene.  
When they did finally reach Peking, they still had to stand through endless diplomatic greetings and the formal handing over of the surrendered Japs before they were released to drop their gear. As they neared the barracks building, Merriell noticed a man standing beside the entrance. Everyone noticed him, he was dressed in civilian clothes and looking the boys over with a shrewd eye as they filed past him and made their way into the building. He stepped forward when he saw Burgie; the glasses made him hard to miss. He was smiling, but there was something shark-like to it.  
"Sergeant Burgin?"  
"Yes." Burgie already sounded displeased.  
"I'm Mr. Norris, intelligence staff for the brigadier general. If you would follow me, the three of you are being given a separate space in the barracks."  
"Why's that?" The rest of the company was throwing suspicious looks their way as they moved past them, though the majority of them seemed to be directed towards Norris.  
"Convenience," Norris said simply. "Your own, and more importantly mine. You certainly don't need to worry about anything underhanded." He didn't bother to lower his voice. His smile grew more pointed. "Given recent developments, we've renegotiated our arrangement with Andrew Haldane."  
What the fuck did that mean? Merriell kept his gaze fixed and disinterested, and Burgie was unreadable as always, but Eugene was close to giving away how little they actually knew, tense and rocking forward a little with all the questions. Merriell shifted his pack to his other shoulder, knocking their elbows together, a warning. He saw Norris note the gesture, fought back a scowl.   
"Lead the way, Mr. Norris," Burgie finally said after a long, considering moment. His voice was cool and flat, but Merriell didn't miss the way his fingers tapped quick against his belt, near his sidearm. Burgie wasn't ruling anything out just yet.   
They followed Norris into the building and to a room on the main floor. It looked to Merriell like it had been set up purposefully for them, near the door and away from where the rest of the boys were set to bunk, on the floors above them. There were three beds, each with a small stand beside them. There weren't any windows. Norris gestured them in, then helped himself to the one chair in the room, a rickety looking thing set against the wall near the door. Merriell dropped his gear on one of the beds and leaned up against the wall beside it. Burgie hadn't moved from the doorway, stood looking down at Norris.  
"To begin, the United States Marines would like to thank you for your service to your country." He sounded sincere, it threw Merriell right off. "We did consider immediately releasing the three of you from your agreement when Japan surrendered, but the situation in Peking changed rapidly."  
"How's that?" Merriell asked. "Nips seemed placid enough."  
"Isn't that why we're here?" Eugene said. "To repatriate the Japs and keep the peace?"  
"Of course," Norris said easily. "More importantly, we're here to prop up the Nationalists. We can't officially take sides in their conflict with the Communists, but it's in our interest to put an end to the infighting. That's where the three of you come in."  
"Fighting Communists." Burgie's flat tone said what he thought of that idea.  
"Not the Communists. The mutants whom we believe to be inciting violence between the two groups." Norris went on, ignoring the effect of his words. "They're here, in Peking. We haven't rooted them out yet, but we will."  
"And you want us to find them?" Burgie asked, disbelieving.  
"We just blow shit up," Merriell threw in helpfully. "You got the wrong boys for a job like this."  
"On the contrary, one of you would be incredibly useful in our efforts to hunt these insurgents down." Norris looked deliberately over at Eugene as he spoke. "We would just need to get our hands on one person who knows something, and the whole house of cards would fall." Eugene glared back at him.  
"That's not on the table," Burgie said coldly.  
"Clearly," Norris said, smiling sardonically. "Well, it was worth a try. I just figured you men might want to go home sooner rather than later. No, we don't require your help in running the mutants down. That's just a matter of time. But when we have gathered enough information, we will expect the three of you to get rid of them."  
"You mean kill them." Eugene had that look in his eye, furious and stubborn. "We're not at war anymore, you can't possibly expect marines to hunt down and assassinate people."  
"But you're not really marines, are you?" Norris stood up, smiled big and icy. "You're mutants, and this is how the three of you get home."  
"I'm a marine." Norris threw Burgie an annoyed look.  
"A valid point, Sergeant Burgin. If that's your stance, I'll see that you're honorably discharged as soon as possible. You'll go home, and these two will stay here." Whatever he saw in their faces satisfied him; he nodded to them and backed out the door. "I'll be your contact going forward. In the meantime, stand by to stand by. Isn't that what they say?" With that he was gone, closing the door gently behind him.  
It was dead silent for a moment, and then Burgie spun around and slammed his fist into the nearest bedside stand. One of the legs snapped from the force of it and the whole thing fell with a clatter.  
"Shit, Burge," Merriell said. "Guess that bed's yours."  
"I should of fucking known it didn't mean a goddamn thing," Burgie grated out.  
"Don't say that," Eugene said. "They know you won't leave us behind, that don't make anything meaningless." He stepped up to Burgie, put a careful hand on his shoulder. "That's why you're our sergeant, ain't that right, Snafu?"  
"Have a smoke, Burgie," Merriell said, pulling out his pack. "It's just more of the same. You know your own damn worth." Burgie huffed and shook his head, but accepted a cigarette. He dropped his gear on his bed and sank down in the chair Norris had abandoned.   
They smoked together, tense and quiet. Eugene paced back and forth, lipping his pipe, lost in thought. "What do you suppose he meant, about Haldane and recent developments?" He finally asked.  
"No telling," Burgie answered. "We just gotta keep faith in Haldane. He'd get a hold of us if there was something we needed to know." They'd been repeating that line back and forth to each other ever since they took Leyden away. It was wearing on Merriell, not knowing what was happening back home. Was Bill safe? Was Jay? He had written them a handful of times, but the letters were short and empty of anything substantial. From the return address, it looked like he'd stayed in California instead of going back to the estate. Then the letters had stopped.  
"Are we really going to keep killing mutants for them?" Eugene came and dropped down next to Merriell as he spoke.  
"I don't know," Burgie said quietly. "It's like you said, the war's over. Even then, it never felt right, and now? They're our people, more than assholes like Norris will ever be. We'll just have to take the situation as it comes."  
They didn't hear from Norris again for more than three months. It made them restless, made the days drag slow. Merriell couldn't pretend to be unhappy though, not even with the boredom and the unease. Peking was an easy post. Their duties scarcely consisted of anything more taxing than walking a patrol route. Most of their time was downtime, which Merriell spent playing cards or shooting craps with the marines that he'd gotten friendly with. He explored the city a bit with Burgie and Eugene, stared at strange buildings and tried stranger food. Then the temperature dropped, and it wasn't near as much fun to go out strolling. Burgie scoffed, but Merriell insisted it was even colder in Peking than it had been in Massachusetts. He missed his old coat, but the winter uniforms they were issued were warm enough.  
The new uniforms came with their own set of problems though. Specifically, Eugene looked too goddamn good in them. Merriell could hardly look at him without his fingers itching, thinking about yanking him out of that green jacket, pulling him free from that tie. The opportunities were infrequent, but Merriell took every chance he got to mess the boy up.  
"Snafu, God," Eugene said breathlessly during one such moment. Burgie had stepped out for a walk, and Merriell had shoved Eugene into their room and down on his bed. Now he was in his lap, grinding against him. He'd already gotten him out of his jacket, and was biting out his frustration all over his shoulders and chest. He was going mad, he was losing it. Every little taste of Eugene just drove him on, made him want more. He knew he was a greedy, thankless bastard, but fuck, what he wouldn't give to bite into his bottom lip, to run his hands along all that flushed skin.   
"Wearing underwear?" He asked, fastening on to Eugene's nipple through the shirt.   
"Yeah," Eugene answered on a choked laugh, a shaky breath, and Merriell reached down and got to work on his pants. He slid to the floor between Eugene's knees, Eugene grabbing at him like he half wanted to stop him, then wriggled his pants down from around his hips. Eugene was still leaning partly back on one hand and he had a hold of Merriell's arm with the other. "You don't gotta-" he started to say, and then Merriell lowered his head and traced his way open-mouthed along the length of his cock. He could feel the blood pulsing against his tongue, it made him wild with wanting, pulled a low moan out of his throat. "Oh, God," Eugene said, and Merriell was just starting to think through how he could suck him off through his underwear when Burgie opened the door and walked in on them.  
"Fuck, Burgie!" Merriell jumped up, paced a tight, angry circle around the room as Eugene rolled over to his side and pulled his pants back up. "Why the hell are you back so fucking fast?" Burgie stood and stared at them, frozen, and Merriell scowled. "Don't look so goddamn scandalized, what'd you think we'd be doing, fucking knitting?" He'd have thought Burgie would have just backed out of the room, or maybe cracked a joke, not gaped at them like they'd managed to shock him.  
"Are you alright?" Eugene asked. He had sat back up, thrown his jacket over his lap to hide his erection. Merriell thought he could maybe punch Burgie in the throat.  
"Sorry," Burgie said stiffly. "I just was thinking. Wanted to talk to the two of you."  
"Jesus Christ." Merriell threw himself back on his bunk. "What about?" Burgie closed the door but didn't sit down, shifting restlessly in front of it instead.  
"I think we should get a hold of Norris."  
"Why?" Merriell said, surly.  
"How?" Eugene said. "I don't think it runs both ways."  
"Who're we gonna ask, the brigadier general?" Merriell shook his head. "Sledge is right, the man comes to us, we don't get to go to him."  
"He's in the city somewhere," Burgie said after a moment's pause.   
"Well, he ain't here. What you wanna do, go knocking on doors?" Burgie just frowned in response to Merriell's words.  
"Why do you wanna talk to him?" Eugene asked. "You think of something to get us out of this?"  
"Maybe. I dunno. I need to think on it some more." Burgie turned and opened the door. "I'm gonna get back to my walk. Sorry to interrupt you boys."  
Merriell and Eugene stared at each other from their separate beds after he left. "What do you suppose is wrong?" Eugene asked. Merriell shrugged. Something had definitely been bothering Burgie, but the man had a tendency to keep himself clammed up tight about that sort of thing. And what wasn't wrong, when you got right down to it? Stuck halfway around the world from home, not allowed to return until they murdered some mutants who may or may not have it coming. Add to that whatever the hell was going on between Burgie and Florence, and it was no wonder the man was spinning his wheels.  
"He'll talk," he said, getting up to cross over to Eugene's bed. He stretched out behind him and Eugene leaned back against his legs. "Just gotta let him work it out in his own head." He snagged Eugene by the elbow, pulled him back to him. Eugene came to him, put his hands on him, and Merriell forgot all about Burgie and his damn moods.


	18. Chapter 18

Burgie never did come up with a plan to get them out of anything, and seemed to have abandoned the idea of trying to reach out to Norris. It turned out to not matter much anyway, because just a couple of weeks later Norris came to them.  
They had been killing time in their room, Eugene and Burgie with their respective big noses stuck in separate books. Merriell was smoking and throwing cards. He'd finally gotten to the point where he figured they could start replacing his rocks, under the right conditions. They charged faster, made a smaller explosion, and could be thrown more stealthily than the random rocks he picked up and pocketed. He was relieved when he heard the door open, thinking it was one of the marines come to invite him to do something more entertaining than watching Sledge and Burgie flip pages. When he saw Norris' toothy smile, he sneered. "Shit, the suit's back, boys."  
"Mr. Norris," Burgie said, dropping his book and rising to his feet. Eugene copied him, came to stand at his shoulder. Merriell propped his feet up and cascaded his deck of cards.  
"Sergeant Burgin. Gentlemen," Norris said, closing the door and sitting down in the chair. "It took us longer than we hoped, but we finally have him."  
"Him?"   
Norris chuckled and rubbed his chin at Burgie's questioning tone. "That's right, it's just one mutant. He's certainly part of a larger organization, but he's the only one operating in Peking. He's good, has kept us chasing our tails for months." He sounded almost admiring. "But we've got it all now; a face, a name, and a location." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a slim stack of photos, handed them to Burgie. "Hu Feng, other aliases unknown. He's behind the rising number of bridge and railroad sabotage attempts."  
"Successful attempts, from what we've been hearing," Burgie said, looking the pictures over with Eugene. He tossed them to Merriell, and Merriell stared down at several grainy pictures of a youngish Chinese man, average in the extreme, photographed going in and out of buildings, walking down the street.   
"As I said, he's quite talented. He's still an unknown in many ways. We haven't determined his abilities or how he may be using them to further the agenda of the mutant brotherhood he's working for."  
"Brotherhood?" Eugene asked, looking over at Norris with a frown.  
"Just a term that's been thrown around enough for us to pick up on. Their true aim is unclear, but it's safe to say that we're looking at a league of mutants who have banded together to promote their own ends here in China."  
Phrased like that, it didn't sound much different than what they were working towards with Haldane. The uncertainty seemed to settle heavy in the air around them. Merriell focused on springing the deck from hand to hand, watching Norris out of the side of his eye.   
"Tell us what we need to know," Burgie said tersely.

* * *

  
"We really doing this?" Merriell said as soon as Eugene closed the car door behind them, as soon as they started walking down the quiet street towards the house where Hu Feng was supposedly staying.   
"Quiet," Burgie snapped. They walked in silence for a moment, and when he spoke again it was under his breath. "I don't want it to come to that. If we can talk to him, then we will. For all we know he won't speak a lick of English." They were drawing looks already, strolling along in their service uniforms, in a part of the city they'd never had call to explore before, being mostly residential buildings.  
"What'll we do if we can't talk to him?" Eugene asked. "Christ, what'll we do if we can?" The wind was strong and howling, sweeping their words up and throwing them around.   
"Not like we can help him, either way," Merriell said. He hunched in on himself against the bitter cold.  
"What do you boys want me to say, huh?" Burgie said angrily. "We don't got a lotta options here." They saw the house up ahead, a brown tiled roof and white stone walls gone grayish with grime and age, just like Norris had described. It was an old courtyard style home that had been divided up into different apartments. Hu Feng had a small room in the southeast corner. They were to walk in, kill him, then walk back out and get in the car that was waiting for them down the other end of the street.  
"Maybe he can help us," Eugene said.  
"Not enough," Burgie answered. "We'd still be stuck over here, and God only knows what they might try to do to Haldane if we up and disappeared."  
"I dunno about that," Merriell said. "They're afraid of him, these days."  
"How can we trust you'll get us out of there?" Burgie had asked, after Norris described the layout of the building and where the car would be waiting for them. "How do I know you won't just leave us twisting?"  
"If only I could," Norris had answered. "No, your safe return is the cornerstone of our new agreement with Haldane. We just never specified how quickly that would happen. That's up to the three of you."  
"I won't risk it," Burgie said now, hard-voiced. "Not when we don't know what's happening over there, don't know how safe any of them are." They were approaching the door. Burgie settled a hand along the side of his glasses and Merriell palmed a card. "Look, we ain't going in there shooting. But that's the best we can do. Open it up, Sledge." Eugene swung the door open and Burgie stepped through.  
They were spotted right away, by some little thing that stared, then hollered and ran off further into the home. They followed after, through the patch of open dirt that Merriell figured was some sort of garden during warmer seasons, and into the house itself. There weren't many folk there, and the ones that they happened upon just folded up and cowered, or shouted in alarm and anger but still backed away. Burgie picked his way unerringly towards the section of the house where Norris had assured them Hu Feng would be. When they reached his door, Eugene slid it open and Merriell and Burgie moved through, stepping out to either side and taking in the room and its one resident.  
It wasn't Hu Feng. It was some old grandma, who dropped the cup she had been holding and stumbled to her feet. She balked when she saw the three of them standing in her door, then threw her hands up and started wailing loudly. She had a good set of lungs on her, squalling fit to shake the beams. She could be cursing them out or crying for mercy, Merriell didn't have any damn idea.  
"Merde," he said, glancing over his shoulder at Eugene, who was standing in the doorway watching back the way they came.  
"Hu Feng?" Burgie asked the old lady. _"Nǎlǐ Hu Feng?"_ She didn't answer, just kept on caterwauling. "Damn it!"  
"It's the right room," Eugene said.  
"Fucking Norris," Burgie said. "Let's go, get to the damn car." They hustled out of there as fast as they could, back past the gawking tenants, out of the house and down the street. The car was waiting for them exactly where Norris had said it would be and the driver scarcely waited for them to pile in before he was moving off. Norris turned around from the front seat and looked them over expectantly.  
"He wasn't there," Burgie said, toneless.  
"Impossible," Norris snapped. "He was there, our information was sound."  
"Fucker wasn't there, what do you want us to say?" Merriell snarled, throwing himself back in his seat. Norris glared back and forth between the three of them, stiff with fury.   
"I don't have the time to waste on a couple of backwater freaks that can't manage to hold up their end." His voice was frigid. "He wasn't there? You boys had better hope he's there the next time we send you in. We have long term plans here in China, and you'll be a part of them for as long as it fucking takes." Christ, Merriell wanted to kill him. Eugene sat still, too still, beside him. Burgie's jaw was locked closed. Merriell glared back at him, didn't try to hide any of the hot hate rising up in him, but Norris didn't care. He just turned back around in his seat. "Back to the Legation Quarter," he bit out to the driver, and no one spoke again the rest of the way there.  
"Tell me more about this trip we're taking," Eugene said. Merriell frowned down at the top of his head. Burgie had stepped out of the car and stalked off, and Eugene and Merriell had looked at one another and wordlessly agreed to leave him be. Now they were crammed together on Merriell's bed, Eugene leaned back against his chest. Eugene tilted his head, looked up at him with a wry little smile. "Fishing on the bayou, remember?" Merriell felt an answering smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. He leaned his head back and took a deep pull off his smoke.  
"You don't gotta worry about nothing, chéri. Can just stretch out and take it nice and easy." Eugene would love it, no doubt, he was the sort of boy who could appreciate a little quiet, a little strange. "I'll catch 'em, hell, I'll even cook 'em up for you." Eugene sank even lower down on the bed, the back of his head pressed against the bottom of Merriell's sternum. He reached for Merriell's free hand, started tracing idle patterns along his palm.  
"Sounds like a vacation for me, at least. What do you get out of it?"  
"You know." He lowered his nose carefully into Eugene's hair, breathed him in. "Don't make me fucking say it." It sure would be something, to have Eugene all to himself, to have him relaxed and lazy, letting Merriell take care of him. Eugene pulled his arm up to his face and kissed his sleeved wrist, then went back to playing with his hand. Merriell finished off his smoke, then leaned out to drop it into the little metal tray Eugene had made sure to place on the stand next to his bed.   
"Maybe while we're down that way, we could stop by Mobile," Eugene said. "Want you to meet my folks."  
Merriell didn't know what the hell he was supposed to say to that. He hadn't given it any thought, but there wasn't much doubt he was the last person Eugene's parents would ever hope for or expect their baby boy to bring home. He had a dick, for one thing. That was enough right there. Add to that the fact that he was a mutant, that he barely had any learning, that all he was good at or had ever been good at was destroying shit and clinging all needy on to the few things he cared for, and yeah, he didn't see that meeting going so well. But then, maybe Eugene knew something he didn't.  
"You see any of this, when you was walking around all crazy?" Eugene snorted but his voice when he answered was somber.  
"No. There were so many of them, I only explored a fraction." He tipped his head back to look at him again. "I don't know what comes next."  
Those dark eyes, that soft long mouth. He should just shut his damn trap. But he said it anyway. "You ever see a future where I kiss you?" It was getting bad, this need for real contact. Some days it seemed to be all he could think about, all the ways he'd like to touch him. They ran the gamut from disgustingly innocent to downright filthy, and he wanted them all equally.   
Eugene sat up, pulled away. "No," he said flatly. "There's no future where that happens."  
"You only saw a sliver of them, ain't that what you just said?" Shut up, shut the fuck up. He kept talking. "We could try it out, when we get back to Haldane's. Best place for it, I figure."  
"How do you figure that?" He was being sarcastic, putting all those walls back up, but Merriell was in too far to back out now.  
"Safest place I know. He'd be there to help, if we needed it. Lotsa mutants have a hard time with it, just a matter of-"  
"Jesus!" Eugene sprung off the bed, spun around to face him. "You've given this some thought, huh? Even though I've told you, I've tried to tell you-" He broke off, mouth snapping shut, eyes smoldering. "It's not gonna happen," he said finally, dropping each word carefully down. "It's never happening, Merriell. I don't know how to make you understand."  
Merriell slouched back, folded his arms across his stomach and tapped his fingers along his ribs. "Just seems like its worth talking about, that's all," he muttered. He stared at the wall and listened to Eugene take a long loud breath in and out through his nose.   
"I'm gonna go find Burgie," he said eventually. "Make sure he's alright." Merriell glanced over at him and Eugene gave him a tired, sad smile. "I'll be right back, I'm not running off to," he trailed off, looked away. "Just need to settle my head."  
Off to convince himself he was right, that it was too damn dangerous, not worth the risk. "Go on," he drawled, watching his turned away face. "No one's stopping you."   
"Snafu," Eugene said, exasperated, but then he just sighed and turned away, closed the door behind him. Merriell huffed to himself and glared at nothing. Fishing trip, who the fuck were they kidding?  
They didn't talk about it again, just let it drop and went on like they had been. But Eugene was guarded in a way that reminded Merriell of how he had been before they crossed the Pacific, and Merriell could feel the resentment starting to grow up between them. Now Eugene was cautious when they touched, like he half expected Merriell to try and sneak something past him. He wasn't far off, Merriell thought about it each time they pressed in close to each other. He was faster than Eugene these days, he could pull it off. Slide his fingers up his sleeve, press his lips against his jaw, Eugene wouldn't be able to get away in time. But Eugene didn't want it.  
Meanwhile, the situation in Peking was starting to wear on everyone. The infighting and local discontent grew, and the marines just kept walking their patrols and wasting their days, next to useless. The next time Norris strolled into their room, Merriell mostly felt relieved.  
He didn't bother to get up or acknowledge him in any way, none of them did this time except that Burgie got a grim look on his face and put aside the letter he had been writing.  
"Good evening, men," Norris said pleasantly. They just stared back at him. Eugene tapped his pipe out in the ash tray and set to cleaning it. Norris gave a funny little smile, like they had answered a question for him. He closed the door behind him and stood in front of it, forgoing the chair. "Another opportunity has presented itself. Hu Feng will be on the move tonight, meeting contacts and relaying information. We have the location and an approximation of the time for one of the meetings. You just need to be there."  
"Where?" Burgie asked curtly.  
"It's not too far from here," Norris answered easily, like they were discussing going out for drinks. "The Confucian temple north of the Forbidden City. It'll take about an hour on foot, so time is of the essence."  
"On foot?" Norris stared at Eugene like he didn't understand his questioning tone. "There won't be a car taking us there and picking us back up?"  
"That's no longer our concern," Norris said after a heavy pause. "If you wanted us to continue sticking our necks out for you, then perhaps you shouldn't have let Hu Feng slip through your fingers the first time we sent you in."  
"You got us trapped here," Burgie said. "Why the hell would we lie? He wasn't there."  
"Why would you lie? How about misplaced loyalty to another of your kind?" Norris watched them carefully as he spoke, searching them out. Merriell didn't look over at Burgie and Eugene, just stared hard and blank at him. Norris' mouth twisted. "I won't waste any more time repeating myself, you know what's at stake. Here's what we know."  
The temple was fucking weird, a kind of beautiful that Merriell couldn't bring himself to trust. Like so many of the buildings in Peking, it sat perfectly balanced between simple lines and intricate details. Merriell felt overwhelmed whenever he tried to pull the pieces apart and break down what he was seeing, so he mostly didn't bother. He just sucked on his smoke and followed along with Burgie and Eugene as they circled the area, getting a feel for the layout before they went in.   
"Maybe it's for the best," Eugene said. He had his arms wrapped around himself, shivering from the cold. "No one waiting nearby, we might be able to actually talk to him."  
"We'll try," Burgie said in agreement. "But we can't let it go too far. There's only so much we can do." He stopped and looked around with a frown of dissatisfaction. "This place is bigger than I thought it'd be. Gonna be hard to predict where they might meet, catch him unawares." He pointed over towards the central cluster of buildings. "That one looks to have the best viewpoints. We'll hunker down in there and see what happens." They cut across the grounds, dropping from habit into a half crouch. The inner courtyard was lined with a bunch of trees, big and twisted, the bark all knobby. Merriell stopped beside one enclosed by a short gate.  
"Kinda tree is this?" He asked Eugene, who had come up beside him. He took another pull of his smoke, trying to finish it quick before they went off to squat in the dark and wait on a mutant that, for all they knew, wouldn't even show.  
"Some kind of Cypress," Eugene replied, craning his neck up to look at the sprawling branches.  
"The Touch-Evil Cypress," a voice called out from somewhere behind them. Merriell cursed and ducked down as he spun, as a bright light suddenly shone down on them, filling his vision. "It can see into men's hearts." Eugene was beside him, Burgie was stepping back towards him. He raised a hand in front of his eyes and tried to pinpoint the source of the light.  
"Hu Feng?" Burgie asked, butting up against the both of them. Eugene reached a hand out to steady him.  
"I understand you've been looking for me," the voice said in answer. His English was unaccented. "I am always open to a conversation with brothers."  
"That's good to hear," Burgie said. "We need you to leave Peking." Hu Feng laughed.  
"Why would I do that?"  
"We could call it a family favor," Burgie said. "Brothers, ain't that right?" He was holding a hand up to his eyes like he was trying to see, but Merriell noted how he had settled his fingers along the side of his glasses.  
"And if I say no?"  
"We've gotta get home, one way or the other." Burgie answered grimly. "Got our own family who needs us." Merriell belatedly remembered his cigarette, started twisting it awake.  
"I see," Hu Feng said coldly. "No, I don't believe you are brothers after all."  
"Got a charge here," Merriell said, low-voiced. Hu Feng was still talking.  
"I am sorry that we are pitted against one another, and for what comes next." He sounded genuinely regretful, harshly so.  
"We are too," Burgie said, and shot a red blast straight into the light. Gunfire burst out and Merriell threw himself down and to the side, flicking his smoke forward and up. It wouldn't do much but they needed as much of a distraction as they could get. He couldn't see a damn thing after having that light shining all blinding in his face, but Burgie shouted for them to move back and his smoke exploded and filled the space with just enough light for him to make out where he had landed, and he scrabbled backwards and behind the nearest pillar. He couldn't really make out Eugene and Burgie's shape in the dark, but saw the red glint of Burgie's glasses, saw faint light catch on the metal of Eugene's sidearm. "Sledge, stay here, make sure he doesn't come this way. Snafu, you and me are gonna circle around on either side. Can't let him get away." He didn't wait on a reply, just took off and was immediately swallowed up by the dark. Merriell peeled away too, his gun in one hand, a card settled along his palm in the other.   
He moved as quickly and carefully as he could. The silence was eerie after the loud cracking of gunfire. If Hu Feng was still there, he was being smart and waiting on the best shot. It jacked Merriell's nerves up in a way he thought he wouldn't have to feel again after the war ended. He should have known better. He circled around the back side of the building Hu Feng had been using, but didn't find anything but Burgie. Explosions and shots fired meant they didn't have much time, but they still searched the building thoroughly, and then the buildings surrounding it. But Hu Feng was gone.  
It took them twice the amount of time to return to the Legation Quarter, after a long, cold journey through the city where they had taken every little alley and side street they could to avoid detection, had doubled back and circled around multiple times to make sure they weren't followed. Back in their room, Merriell had just tossed himself down on his bed, cold and helplessly furious, when the door flew open and Norris stalked in.  
"What the hell were you doing out there?" He all but roared, voice bouncing all around their small room. He spun around and slammed the door shut behind him, then stepped back and blinked in surprise when he turned to find Burgie right in front of him, nose to nose.  
"We're done," Burgie said tightly. "This is the second time your useless Intel has gotten us stuck in shit, and this one nearly cost us more than I'm willing to spend on you and your damn plans." Merriell had started to get up when Norris came flying through the door, but now he settled back, felt some satisfaction move in past the anger. Burgie had it in hand.  
"My Intel-" Norris started to say, but Burgie cut him off.  
"You can keep us here in this goddamn city for as long as you like, but we're not lifting a finger for you. So go on and try it, Norris. See who folds first." He turned away and paced over to his bed, started yanking off his tie. Norris stood and stared after him, then looked back and forth between Eugene and Merriell with an expression of shock.  
"Ah," he said quietly. "So that's it." Merriell glared at him, willing him out the door, but Norris sat down in his customary chair instead, leaned back and crossed his leg and stared at nothing. Burgie shrugged out of his jacket and tie and turned around to face him again, arms folded. "Sergeant Burgin," he said after a long moment. "I didn't send you out tonight. We're still chasing Hu Feng down, haven't had any luck figuring out his movements."  
"You did," Eugene said. He was seated on his own bunk, leaning forward on his knees. "You said he was meeting someone at the temple. You said," he trailed off, looked over at Burgie.  
"I'm sure someone who looked remarkably like me did indeed tell you all that and more," Norris said slowly. "Just as I'm sure that Hu Feng was in that house when we sent you in after him the first time. You just didn't recognize him. Her. It."  
Burgie lifted a hand and pressed his fingers along the sides of his nose. "You're talking about a shapeshifter," he said, bleakly amused. "Hell, it makes sense."  
"You mean that bawling old lady was actually him?" Merriell said, sitting up now. He glanced over at Eugene, who stared back at him, looking as lost as Merriell felt. "And the same fucker strolled right into our room and sent us off to meet him?"  
"That's how he's been doing it." Norris sounded excited, downright gleeful. He jumped to his feet, paced back and forth across the room. "My God, no wonder he's been able to pull all this off alone. But he's given the game away now." He turned back towards Burgie, nearly vibrating with urgency. "Tell me everything he said."


	19. Chapter 19

Norris more than overstayed his welcome, remaining in their room late into the night and questioning them about every detail of both of their conversations with Hu Feng, until they were drooping with fatigue. When he left, the three of them collapsed into their beds without another word and slept like the run down dogs they were. So it wasn't until the next morning, sitting in mess and eating their shit breakfast, that Merriell had the realization.  
Looking back on it, he really should have picked up on some things. He thought about Hu Feng-as-Norris, and how he'd stayed standing in front of the door the whole time, how he'd paused for a couple seconds whenever they'd said something that he wasn't expecting. It was completely different from what he'd seen of the real Norris, who always settled himself down in their one chair like it belonged to him, who was always quick with a biting comment. Those were the things to look for: staying on their feet and close to the exits, careful pauses and even more carefully chosen words. Kind of reminded him of, of -  
"Hey Burgie," he said, feeling stony certainty settling down on him. "You remember that day you went out for a walk and came back early?" Burgie frowned at him. "Walked in on me trying to work out how to blow Sledge?"  
"What?" Burgie sputtered.  
"Snafu, Jesus Christ!" Eugene hissed, looking around the room. "What the hell's gotten into you?"  
"Seems like something a man would remember seeing," Merriell said, watching Burgie.  
"You're goddamn right it is, and that did not happen," Burgie said, leaning back in his seat and looking between the two of them.  
"It did," Eugene said, then turned more red than Merriell had ever seen before, from the top of his chest to the tips of his ears. He turned away from Burgie's astounded expression, dropping his head in his gloved hands and groaning. "What are you doing, Mer?" He said miserably.  
"You don't remember it," Merriell said, satisfied and amused and angry, "'Cause it wasn't you. It was Hu Feng." He propped himself on his elbow and lit a smoke, feeling smug and pretty fucking clever. Eugene lifted his face from his hands, left them sitting cupped and empty in front of him.  
"He said he wanted to try and contact Norris," he said slowly, staring off at nothing as he remembered.  
"Seemed put off when we pointed out we had no way to get hold of him," Merriell added on.  
"When was this?" Burgie was leaning back in now, intent and focused.  
"Couple of weeks before Norris came back." Eugene grimaced. "The real Norris."  
"So he's done it more than once, we know that for sure. Damn." Burgie pressed a fist against his forehead and looked down at the table. "We gotta watch everything we say, even around each other. He could be anybody. Could slip in just about anywhere."  
"Should we tell Norris, if we see him again?" Eugene asked.   
"No," Burgie said after a moment. "I meant what I said. I'm not helping him anymore. Felt wrong last night, you know?" Eugene nodded, mouth soft and considering. "I believed Hu Feng, when he said he was sorry about what it had come to. So it's not gonna come to it. You were right Sledge, the both of you were. Can't let them make us into murderers."  
"No telling how long they'll try and keep us here," Merriell said.  
"I know," Burgie answered grimly. "But I can't imagine looking," he broke off, his jaw clenched. "It's just the right thing to do," he muttered.  
"Shit Burge, I'm with you." Merriell reached over and knocked his knuckles against the back of Burgie's fist companionably. "Was just saying." He took another draw of his smoke, scanned the room lazily. "Fucking boring, but there're plenty of worse ways to be than bored. Ain't that right, darling?" He looked over at Eugene, found him watching him, soft and sharp.  
"I'm not bored," he said. Merriell felt it like a stab of pleasure, right in his chest.  
They were cautious after that, tried to stick together and not go off by themselves as much as possible. It meant Merriell rarely had a moment alone with Eugene, meant he was on edge with wanting him, skin near shivering with need. But then, that had been the case since the very beginning, and it just seemed to get worse no matter what they managed to get up to. Merriell was starting to feel wild, like he could shake himself apart. Like he had to bite into something and if he couldn't sink his teeth into Eugene then just any old body would do. He tried to hide it from Eugene, but wasn't sure how good a job he did of it. Eugene saw him too well, had always seen him, that was the whole damn problem. Merriell could feel him slowly putting his walls up, bracing to protect himself from a blow. He didn't know what the fuck to do about any of it.  
He was alone, laying on the floor and staring up at the ceiling and thinking about touching Eugene when Hu Feng walked in the room. Burgie and Sledge had gone off to try and trade books with some of the boys and so the fact that Burgie walked back in alone was the first sign of something being off. Merriell didn't look over, just kept on tossing the rock he was holding back and forth between his hands.  
"Nobody had nothing to trade, huh?" He watched out of the corner of his eye as Burgie closed the door and stood in front of it, shifting his weight back and forth. He didn't answer, probably because he didn't know what the fuck Merriell was talking about. "Guess the two of you've burned your way through every book in the 5th by now."  
"Yeah," Not-Burgie said with a little chuckle. "I suppose so."  
Merriell decided to focus on getting him away from the door. "Glad it's just you, Burge," he said, sitting up and tossing the rock away, leaving his hands empty. "Been wanting to talk to you without Sledge around. Got an idea to get us the fuck outta here that the boy wouldn't like." He reached over for his pack of smokes and pulled two out, stuck them both in his mouth. "Too good for his own good, y'know?" He mumbled around them as he lit them up, breathed in sharp to get them started. He plucked one out of his mouth, held it out to Burgie expectantly.   
Not-Burgie only hesitated for a second before moving away from the door, accepting the lit cigarette with a clipped thanks that sounded so much like the real Burgie that Merriell doubted himself for a second. But then he stayed standing, looming over him instead of settling down on his bunk. "What's your idea?" He asked, holding the smoke all wrong, he'd obviously never seen the way Burgie gripped his occasional cigarettes all ham-fisted and too-tight.   
"Gotta get a hold of Hu Feng, first off," Merriell said, and whipped his leg around, knocking Not-Burgie's feet out from under him. The fucker was quick, threw a hand out to balance himself and ended up just stumbling to the side a bit. But Merriell was quicker, had always had better reflexes than folk expected. He slid up to one knee and rammed his elbow into the tender spot beneath Not-Burgie's sternum. His mind flashed briefly back to Haney and the endless drills he'd put them through as Not-Burgie folded over and Merriell hooked him behind his knees. Not-Burgie fell backwards against the side of Burgie's bunk and Merriell followed after him, sliding his knee up behind his back, grabbing his arm and twisting it. Not-Burgie tried to wriggle away but Merriell staved that off with a quick jab to his neck. Not-Burgie went momentarily limp, and that was all Merriell needed. He knelt over him, holding him in place on his side with one leg pressed hard against his back and his arm locked and pulled back tight. Not-Burgie recovered enough to start struggling again, and Merriell tugged back on his arm, pushed in with his leg. Not-Burgie gave a pained gasp and held still.  
"First step's taken care of," he drawled, shifting his cigarette around in his mouth so that he could take a pull of it without breaking his hold. He pushed down on his arm, made him groan out low. "What you here for, Hu Feng?"  
"The hell's gotten into you, Snafu?" Hu Feng said.  
"Don't try that. Start talking." He glanced around. "Lost your smoke, huh? Gene'll be real displeased with me if I end up setting fire to our room. Let's get this over with quick." He increased the pressure on Hu Feng's arm again.  
" _Tā mā de_ ," Hu Feng said between gritted teeth. Then, "Surely you know why I'm here. I'm trying to determine your next move. Norris' next move."  
"I can tell you that, no problem. We're sitting on our asses, waiting to go home. You clear outta Peking, it'll happen a helluva lot faster."  
"Well," Hu Feng said. "This has been quite informative. Release me, and I will leave."  
"I don't know about that. Burgie should be back soon. He might wanna talk to you."  
"You're hurting me," Hu Feng said, and Merriell laughed.  
"You'll make it, boy." He finished off his smoke, turned his face to the side and dropped it to the floor.  
"But I'm not a boy," Hu Feng said, and started to change. Merriell stiffened, adjusted his grip as the body below him transformed, Burgie's familiar face flowing away, the lines softening. Now there was woman stretched out below him, beautiful, features twisted in pain from Merriell's hold on her arm. Even her clothes were different, a long white dress that clung to golden skin. The leg he had pressed against her back was pushing her chest out. Merriell's eyes went straight to her tits like the helplessly desperate piece of shit he was.  
"That ain't gonna work," he said listlessly, running his gaze down her body, grip still tight and mean on her arm. It could fucking work, Christ. There was a long slit up the side of her dress, he could see all the way to the top of her thigh.  
"No?" She lifted her free hand, Merriell should pull back on her arm but he didn't, watched instead as she laid it against the back of his hand where it was gripping her upper arm. She slid her fingers slow and gentle up past his wrist and along his forearm.  
Dark soft eyes, body all long lines. Hair that caught light like a halo of fire.  
"No," he said gruffly, pushing in on her spine, yanking back on her arm. She gasped and tossed her head back, exposing her throat.  
"I understand," she said, and changed again. Merriell knew what it would be, but it still hit like a hammer against his ribs. "You're loyal," Eugene said, that quiet murmur of his, looking up at him. He smiled, long lips pulling back. His bare hand was still on Merriell's arm. Merriell felt his hands going slack and Eugene turned so he was laying on his back. He slid his arm free of Merriell's loose grip, reached over and hooked his fingers along the top of Merriell's pants, his knuckles brushing against his stomach. Merriell trembled.  
"You're not him," he said, holding himself still, curling his fingers in against his palms.  
"No," Eugene said. "But I'm the next best thing." He tugged lightly with the hand gripping Merriell's pants, curved his other hand around to stroke along the back of his elbow. Merriell dropped a hand down and settled it along his throat. It was supposed to be a warning, but Eugene's skin was warm beneath his hand, the blood pulsing along the sides of his thumb and forefinger. He shifted his hand up, ran rough and angry fingers along his jaw. Eugene tilted his head back and closed his eyes, and Merriell couldn't fucking stop himself, he leaned in and kissed him. It all pressed down on him, years of wanting, needing to know, just growing and building up as he fell more and more in goddamn love. Eugene kissed him back, firm-lipped, and Merriell nipped impatiently at them to get them to part. He was still kneeling over him, Eugene laid out beneath him, his hand lifting away from Merriell's elbow and settling along the side of his neck. His lips slid open under Merriell's teeth and Merriell dipped his tongue into the smooth wet heat of his mouth. He groaned and cupped his jaw and ran his free hand desperately along whatever parts of him he could touch: the shell of his ear, the base of his neck where the hair grew soft and wayward, the bit of skin along the top of his chest that wasn't covered by his shirt. He bit down hard on his lip the way he'd been craving, and Eugene moaned and slid his hand down inside Merriell's pants, wrapped those long warm fingers around his cock. Merriell cursed against his mouth and pulled back, reached down and yanked Eugene's shirt free of his pants so that he could settle his hand along his torso. He was soft to the touch there, lean but not hard, fucking perfect, his Eugene. Merriell felt satisfaction shudder through him. He looked at Eugene, caught him watching him, darkly amused. Hard-eyed. He'd never looked like that, not even on Okinawa, not even in his most bitter moments. It all came crashing down. He tasted wrong, smelled wrong. He wasn't Eugene.  
Merriell ripped away, threw himself to his feet, and Eugene propped himself up on his elbows and watched him with a cold smile. His pants were tented with his erection, and Merriell knew without looking that he was in a similar state. "Get the fuck out," he rasped. God, he'd kill him if he didn't leave, that or climb on top of him again, and he knew which one would be worse and more likely.  
"Gladly," Hu Feng said, dropping the pretense of Eugene's low voice, and then the door opened behind Merriell, and Burgie and Eugene walked in.   
It could have been worse. Hu Feng could have still had his hand down Merriell's pants, Merriell could have still had his tongue down his throat. But it was still pretty damn bad. It was clear from Merriell's ragged breathing and Not-Eugene's swollen mouth, not to mention the state of their trousers, what they had been about. Not-Eugene's shirt was rucked up around his ribs, and he didn't bother to fix it or adjust himself in the slightest. He licked along the spot on his lips where Merriell had bit him and smiled at Eugene instead.  
"Thank you, Snafu," he said, putting on Eugene's voice again. "You were right to keep me here until Burgie came back." He climbed to his feet, started slowly righting his clothing. "Snafu has assured me that my leaving Peking will hasten your own journey home. In the interest of brotherhood, I have decided to do so." He bowed at the waist, but kept his head up, his gaze swinging back and forth between Merriell and Eugene. "I wish for happiness and good fortune for you all on your return."  
Was it just spite, stupid revenge for their acting against him? From the open malice in his face, Merriell figured that might be the only reason. Not-Eugene brushed against him as he walked by, and Merriell recoiled like he should have done from the very start. He couldn't look at Eugene. He heard the door close behind Hu Feng and paced over to his bed, dropped down and buried his hands in his own hair, pulling angrily. Fuck, oh fuck, what had he done?  
"Snafu." Even Burgie was near stuttering with appalled shock. "What. What the hell happened?"  
There wasn't any point in lying. He was too strung out to work his way through a good lie anyway. "He came in here looking like you," he muttered. "Knew it was Hu Feng. Managed to get a hold of him, hold him down. I was waiting for you to get back, but then she, he," he fumbled to a stop, glanced over at Eugene's feet, still standing in the doorway with Burgie.  
There was a long pause, and then Burgie spoke again, sounding more uncertain than Merriell had ever heard before. "I'm. I'm gonna." He cleared his throat. "Gonna go for a walk. Be back in a bit." Merriell watched him turn, watched his feet disappear through the door, leaving the two of them alone.  
Something landed with a plop on the chair beside the door and Merriell looked over at it. It was a book, Eugene had managed to dig up something new to read. Merriell looked up at his face. He was staring at something on the floor. Merriell watched as he bent over and picked it up: Hu Feng's cigarette. Eugene walked over to Burgie's bed and picked up the butt of the smoke that Merriell had dropped on the floor when he was holding Hu Feng down. He held them in one gloved hand and stared down at them. His hands were shaking, he was trembling all over, Merriell could see it from where he was sitting.  
"Just lost my head for a second," he said, and Eugene looked over at him. Shit, how had he convinced himself for even a moment that any other pair of eyes would do? No one had a gaze quite like his Eugene. "I swear, it never got any further than-" Eugene flinched, it was small, but Merriell saw it, saw his whole body tighten up with how he didn't want to hear it. He stopped, looked away. "What do you want me to fucking say." He couldn't stop his hands from twisting, grabbing angrily at his own fingers. "He looked like you, I wanted him to be you. It wasn't you." He looked up at him again. Eugene was staring down at him, his eyes were open, all open, letting Merriell see.   
"I love you, Merriell," he said, stark and sorrowful.  
"Don't." _Not like that, don't say it like that_. He stood up, took a step closer, but Eugene held up a warding hand and he stopped.  
"I love you, but I don't want this." His voice wobbled, but he smiled somehow, small and resigned. He didn't look away. "I'm not gonna regret any of it. But this isn't," he stopped, started again. "You deserve something real. You know that, right?"   
"This is real," Merriell said. "How is this not fucking real?" Eugene looked away, looked down at the cigarette butts in his gloved hand.  
"You know what I mean," he said tightly, his mouth pulling down. He half turned away to drop them onto the stand by his bed.  
"You said it didn't have to end one way."   
Eugene huffed a mockery of a laugh. "That's right. It ends all kinds of ways. This is one of them." He looked back over at Merriell, pain and love. "I'm not saying it's gonna be easy, but we can move on from this."  
"Why the hell would I do that?" He was the one shaking now, while Eugene just grew steadier and more sure. "I want this, you know I ain't lying. Want you."  
"You want me now," Eugene said. "But there're other people out there for you, Snafu. It don't have to begin and end with me." Merriell shook his head incredulously, he didn't understand what the hell they were even talking about anymore. "I'm telling you the truth. I saw it." That stopped him. He stared hard at Eugene. "You were happy, and we were still friends." He tried to say it calmly, but Merriell heard it all in his voice, the hurt and jealousy and dread.   
"You're saying you saw me with someone else, and I didn't want you anymore?" Eugene nodded, face drawn. "It ain't possible. If you saw that, he was lying to you, covering it up. I must of finally figured out how to lie to you." That made more sense than any future where he didn't need Eugene. Eugene just sighed and threw up a hand. Merriell felt it all falling apart, Eugene carefully disassembling it. He stalked up to him, moved in close.  
"Stop," Eugene said sharply, sticking a hand up and bracing it against Merriell's chest. "You think I don't know what you're gonna try? Don't touch me."  
Merriell reached out, gathered the fabric of his collar and the front of his shirt in his hands, pulled him in. He pressed himself up against him, their hips and chests flush together. "You'd know, if you let me touch you." He stared into Eugene's eyes, saw the flash of doubt and indecision. But then Eugene's gaze shuttered, he lifted his gloved hands and pried Merriell's grip loose.   
"No," he said, stepping back, dropping Merriell's hands. "I won't let you do that."

* * *

  
Norris stopped by their room a couple of days later, grinning and gloating, going on about how Hu Feng had abandoned Peking. He shook their hands, assured them that he would have them on the next boat home. Merriell barely heard him, let Burgie speak for him, for the both of them. Eugene sat on his bed and puffed on his pipe and didn't look over at him. Merriell left right after Norris did, went and got drunk with a couple of the boys. And just a few weeks later they were on a boat, heading home. He stuck to himself, avoided Burgie and Eugene as much as he could.  
The most fucked up part was that Eugene still spoke to him, distantly polite, eyes cool, like they hadn't known each other for more than three years, hadn't watched over each other while they slept. Hadn't pressed up close and groaned each other's names out, hands scrabbling for purchase, faces buried against each other's shoulders. Like none of it had happened at all. Merriell stared at the streak of white in Eugene's hair and reminded himself over and over that it had happened, it had all happened. Eugene had said he loved him. But that wasn't enough.  
Burgie, the poor bastard, kept between the two of them and tried and failed to find something to draw them out of their separate holes. Eugene was better at playing along, pretending like he was doing alright. Merriell didn't see the fucking point. But he did start to come out of it, in a sense. By the time they got back to Pendleton, got officially discharged and loaded up on a train for home, his misery had started to sour, had started to thicken and turn hateful.  
He stood with Burgie in the dining car, waiting on drinks, and watched Eugene, sitting at the table and looking out the window. He had his gloved hands clasped in front of him, was leaning his chin on them as he stared out at the passing landscape. His mouth was soft, the line of his brow clear and untroubled. He looked gentle and sweet and removed, some place beyond Merriell, somewhere he couldn't follow after, wasn't welcome. Well, that was fine. If there was one thing he knew how to do well, it was how to cut deep, straight down to the bone. Merriell glanced around, spotted a pretty little thing, hair arranged too perfect, some saunter to her walk. He pulled up a smile that he hadn't had call to use in a while, but some things a body never forgot. She walked past him and he turned around and followed after her.  
"Hiya." She turned around, looked him over, and he did the same. He tilted his head, gave her the liveliest grin he could muster. "I'm Merriell Shelton."  
Not even an hour later, he was closing the door behind him and sliding his hands up along the girl's thighs, rucking her skirt up. It wasn't the same girl, that one had slapped him almost immediately and walked off with her nose stuck in the air. Her friend though, she had looked over at him in surprise and amusement when he followed after and dropped in the seat next to her. He had turned his focus on to her, said a lot of worthless shit and crowded in on her until she was giggling and flushed all rosy from the attention. The first girl, the one that had slapped him, sat and frowned at them both.  
"Your friend doesn't look too happy with you," she said at one point, and Merriell turned around, feeling viciously pleased, but it was just Burgie, sitting with his arms crossed tight across his chest, jaw set with displeasure. Eugene was gone. Merriell just gave him a mirthless smirk and turned away again.  
And now here he was, maneuvering her backwards against the sink, urging her leg up around his own. Here he was, getting a good feel of her, wet and ready, groaning with anticipation. Here he was, thinking about Eugene.   
She gasped when he slid into her, her hands squeezing reflexively on his shoulders, and he thought about the breathless little noises he'd pulled from Eugene, how his hands moved over him all soothing, always gentle. He pistoned into her, chasing his own bit of bitter pleasure, he didn't give a fuck about her but she seemed happy enough. She tugged urgently at the back of his neck and he let her pull their mouths together. Her breath was sweet, and there wasn't even the faintest hint of tobacco. He kissed her angrily, bent her back over the sink and fucked her hard and carelessly until he came, thinking about that first time with Eugene, how he had smiled at him and kissed his chest. The misery swept over him again, fuck, how the hell was this going to work? He wasn't ever going to not want him. How were they supposed to go on living together, playing at being friends and pretending that it was enough? He wasn't doing it, he couldn't fucking do it.  
It was clear from the confused frown on the girl's face that she was disappointed, in his performance or whatever he said after, or both. He wasn't even sure what he said anyway, as he stuffed himself back into his pants and helped her readjust her skirt. He escaped as quick as he could and returned to his seat in the dining car, found Burgie still waiting there on him. He slumped back and lit a smoke and watched him, waited for what he knew was coming.  
"What are you doing, Snafu?" His voice was gentle, it threw Merriell off. He'd been expecting tightly leashed fury. He closed his eyes against the shot of pain and leaned his head back.  
"It's the new normal, Burge, didn't Sledge tell you? I'm gonna move on, and we're gonna be best fucking friends."  
"Well, you're ruining your shot at having even that much."  
"The hell do I care? I don't want that horseshit anyways."  
"That so?" Burgie's voice was getting harder now. "Funny, I thought that was it. Thought that was the whole thing."  
Maybe it had been, at one point. Merriell thought back on that conversation with Haldane. Then, it had been easy to tell himself that he would take what he could get, that the connection was what mattered. But it had been a lie, even then. He wanted Eugene all to himself, wanted him completely. Part of him wasn't enough, whether he was holding back a touch or holding his own self back. And Eugene was always holding back more than a little of both. And fuck him, and fuck Burgie and Haldane too, he wasn't going to follow after him like a goddamn dog, gobbling up whatever scraps Eugene bothered to throw at him.  
"Turned out to be not worth much," he said, lying through his teeth, making sure to keep his voice darkly mocking, casually cruel. He opened his eyes and stared flatly at Burgie, at those red lenses, until Burgie sighed, stood up and walked off, leaving Merriell alone.  
He sat there for the next couple of hours, smoking and thinking, and when the call went through that they were approaching Chicago he got up and made his way back to their seats. It was late, and Burgie and Eugene were both slumped down, sleeping as best they could. Merriell had been counting on that. He barely glanced at them, went to their rack and slid his sea bag down. He settled it over his shoulder, then turned around and looked down at Eugene.  
Untouched, that was how he looked. Untouched by the war, by sorrow, by Merriell. The only thing to give it away was that strip of white above his brow. Who the fuck was he kidding, he would take anything the man would give him, he could survive on the meanest, leanest bits of love. But he would just make Eugene despise him eventually, make him start to regret it. Merriell turned away, walked down the aisle and towards the door. It was better like this. Eugene would go home to Haldane's, have the purposeful kind of life that he wanted. And he would go on knowing that Eugene had loved him. He stepped through the door, stepped out into the bustling station. 


	20. Chapter 20

Burgie slid a mug of coffee in front of him and Eugene looked up and smiled. Tried to smile. "Thanks," he said, and took a sip. He watched Burgie settle in across from him, watched him wrap his fingers around his own mug and stare back at him. Even through his glasses, Eugene knew he was looking him over carefully, pondering what to do. "You don't gotta fuss over me, Burge. I'm alright, I'm just worried about," he felt his voice start to go uneven and stopped, gave himself a minute. "You don't think he'd go and do something stupid, do you?" Burgie grimaced.  
"No," he said, and the complete lack of hesitation in his voice settled Eugene a bit. "The man's an idiot, but he wouldn't do anything like that." He rapped his fingers restlessly against his mug, flexed his jaw. "He'll be okay, Sledge. He's a survivor, you know that."  
That hurt, even though Burgie hadn't meant it to. Snafu was alone and in pain, had chosen to not come home, and it was on Eugene's head. He was having to survive what Eugene had done to him. "It's my fault," he muttered, looking down. "I should of waited until we were home. He wouldn't have left like this if Haldane was around to talk him down."  
"You were trying to do the right thing," Burgie offered lamely, and Eugene gave a weak laugh.  
"It sure twisted around on me." He thought about his last glimpse of Snafu, dark curls neat for once in his life, the hard edge of his jaw and the slightest glimpse of the side of his nose, his one eye. He had been turned away from Eugene, leaned in towards a red-lipped girl. "God, Burgie, how am I gonna explain any of it to Bill and Jay, to Flo?" He caught himself, glanced guiltily up at Burgie. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"  
"It's alright," Burgie said quickly, looking away, out the window. "What're you supposed to do, pretend she don't exist? There's no pretending that." His voice was open, the resigned longing plain.  
"We're a sorry pair," Eugene said, and Burgie's lip twitched. He turned back from the window, took a sip of his coffee. Eugene hesitated, then went ahead and asked. "What's going on, Burgie? With you and Florence?"  
Burgie's face barely changed, like he had been expecting the question. "I just can't do it, Sledge," he said, voice flat, emotionless. "Can't let her know all the things I thought, felt." He shook his head. "Nothing like war to make you see what kind of a man you really are, you know? Confront the truth. I thought I was a good person, before."  
Where would they be, if they hadn't had Burgie looking over them from the very beginning, driving them on? He'd had to make himself hard for all of them, Eugene knew that. But he also knew his eyes now, knew the feeling they were packed full of. Burgie was one of the best, most steadfast men Eugene had ever known. "You are a good person," he said gently.  
"Not good enough," Burgie said tightly. "She deserves. Jesus. Someone with cleaner hands and kinder thoughts than me, that's for damn sure."   
Christ, if any of them got what they actually deserved. If that was the case, Snafu would be sitting here instead of Eugene. "You deserve to be happy, Burgie." That was true at least. Burgie should have that and more.  
"Thanks, Eugene," Burgie said, his fingers curling white with pressure along the side of his mug. "You deserve that, too." Eugene smiled and looked away.  
_No I don't_ , he thought, remembering Snafu's face when Eugene had dropped his roughly clinging hands and stepped away.  
Despite his best efforts to pretend otherwise, Eugene had been barely tracking ever since that day he and Burgie had walked in on Snafu and Hu Feng. God, that first surge of hateful possessiveness that had rocketed its way through him. Snafu had been flushed and rumpled, quivering with tension and barely strapped down need. Eugene had looked down at his own face, had seen the marks Snafu had left on his mouth, had known in that moment that it was over. He couldn't keep Snafu bound up close to him, not when it was clear that it wasn't going to be enough for him. And he couldn't stand the poisonous jealousy that had him pressing his hands tight against his own body every time he thought of Snafu touching someone else. He remembered every word they said to each other, after, like music in the background, the same terrible song playing over and over again. He could barely hear it, but it never fucking stopped. Since then, he'd let Burgie lead him around like a sheep, nodded and smiled when he thought he was supposed to, and tried to not look at Snafu. Then Snafu disappeared, took his sea bag and left in the night, and Eugene had to admit to himself that he'd done everything wrong, from the very start.  
Because he'd been hardly aware of what was going on around him, he had no idea if Burgie'd had enough time to notify Haldane that they were coming home. He hadn't thought to ask if there would be someone at the station to pick them up. When the train finally ground to a stop, Eugene glanced towards the window, pretending to look out at the platform, seeing Snafu's face framed against the light of bursting fireworks instead. He got up when Burgie did, grabbed his sea bag and followed after him, down the aisle and off the train. Burgie started making his way purposefully through the crowd, and Eugene looked up, trying to figure out where they were going. The shot of joy and relief that he felt when he saw Jay's face was enough to make him stumble over his own feet.  
"De L'Eau, you son of a bitch," Burgie said, flat-voiced. He wrapped his arms around Jay, managed to nearly pull him off his feet. Jay laughed, really laughed, the way he used to before Peleliu. He clapped Burgie on the back, shot Eugene a happy, sly kind of grin.   
"Sledgehammer," he said in greeting, slinging an arm around him as Eugene approached. "Fuck, it's good to see you guys." Eugene couldn't do anything but grin like an idiot. Jay clung on to the both of them, used their shoulders to pop his head up above the crowd and look around. "Where's Snaf?" He asked.  
Eugene tensed, looked over at Burgie. Jay must have felt the change, in his body or in the air, because he sobered immediately, keeping his arms around them but dropping down to stare hard at Eugene. He didn't know what Jay saw in his eyes, but his face started to change, stiffening, dark gaze pulling in and closing.  
"He's fine," Burgie said, and Jay looked over at him. "He's alright, Jay." Jay relaxed a bit, his gaze swinging back and forth between them. "He just. Just wasn't ready to come home yet." Jay looked over at Eugene, and Eugene looked away, dropping his gaze down to their feet.   
"I can understand that," Jay said after a moment. "Took me some time to make my way back here, too. He'll come back." Nobody spoke. Jay's cheek twitched nervously. "Come on. Got a whole house waiting on you guys." They followed him through the station, and he talked over his shoulder as they went along. "Hate to tell you, but you just missed Leyden. Haldane sent him out last night on something that couldn't wait."  
"He's alright?" Eugene asked. "Haldane got him out?" Jay snickered.  
"Yeah, he got him out. You'll have to get Flo to tell you the story, 'cause Haldane doesn't like to." They left the station, walked out into bright sunshine. "Let's just say he didn't wait to try and talk anything through."  
Eugene could believe that, especially thinking back on how Haldane had seemed, the last time they spoke. "And Andy?" He asked hesitantly. "How's he doing?"  
"He's good, real good." Eugene was walking beside him now, so he didn't miss the strangely secretive smirk that flashed across Jay's face. "You'll see." He gestured in front of him. "Here we are."  
And there was Haney, standing beside the car and smoking grimly. It was the first time Eugene had seen him in civilian clothing; it aged him, made him seem smaller than before. He watched them as they walked up, his eyes the same. "Men," he said in greeting, gruff as always. Eugene saw him note Snafu's absence.  
"Gunny," he said, happily, miserably. Haney looked hard at him, Jesus, how many more times would he have to do this, stare back and let the people he cared about look into him and see the wretched truth? Eugene gritted his teeth and forced himself to face it.  
"Snafu's doing a little traveling," Jay offered. Haney nodded slowly, didn't look away from Eugene.   
"It happens," he said, sticking his cigarette in his mouth and reaching out. He grabbed Eugene's sea bag by the strap and took it from him, turned and did the same to Burgie's. "Shit falls apart soon as you come home." He didn't say anything more, just made his way to the trunk of the car to stow their bags. But it was oddly comforting, in the way that Haney always was, a hard truth, an unflinching acknowledgement.   
Jay and Burgie provided the majority of conversation on the drive home. They kept it light, Burgie telling Jay about Peking, the food and sights and how they passed the time, Jay telling Burgie a little bit about what he had been up to. He'd tooled around the West Coast for a time, didn't return to Haldane's until after the Japs surrendered and the war officially ended. He didn't try to explain why, but then he didn't really need to. They knew.  
They got quiet as they pulled into the long drive leading up to the estate. Eugene stared ahead, watched the patterned lane pull them on and on, then open up and release them. And there was that tree. It was bare branched, but Eugene could see the buds starting up all along it. It was gathering itself, getting ready to burst and flower in sweet desperation, like it did every year. Year after goddamn year. Something hard lodged itself in his throat, his eyes burned. He looked at his gloved hands and pushed it all down and away.   
"Sledge." Eugene looked over at Haney. He had stuck a fresh cigarette in his mouth and was looking at him, something almost fond in his eyes. Eugene pulled out the lighter and leaned forward, Haney's head coming down to meet him. He lit the tip and Haney grunted his thanks and settled back in his seat. "You boys go on ahead. I'll sit out and finish this." They climbed dutifully out of the car, Eugene and Burgie circling around to retrieve their sea bags from the trunk. Then they followed after Jay, up the steps and between the two columns. The door opened just as they reached it and a stranger walked out, stopping short when she saw the three of them standing there. She was carrying a handful of books.  
"Excuse me," she said, low-voiced, not sounding particularly surprised or sorry. She had light hair pulled back from her face, a penetrating gaze. Her skin seemed to hang loosely on her bones, like a candle that had softened and started to melt. "Jay's friends, I presume? Welcome back." Jay tilted his head to scan the book titles running along the side of the binding.  
"Minerals, huh? How's that going?"  
"Ask me again in a few days," she said in answer. "You're crowding me, De L'Eau." Jay stepped back and she moved past them, sparing Eugene and Burgie the slightest of smiles. She lifted her voice to call out to Haney. "Elmo! Can you drive me into town?" They watched her climb into the car without waiting for an answer, turn her considerable attention on to Haney.  
"Who's she?" Burgie asked.  
"That's Fran, a new student," Jay said. He was smiling, his eyes still on the car and its occupants. "She's awful." He turned back to the door, shoved it open and gestured to Eugene and Burgie. "Come on."  
Eugene walked in and set his sea bag on the floor in the same spot he'd set his luggage that first night, more than three years ago. Burgie set his down beside him, and the two of them looked at each other. Burgie's face was unreadable as always, but Eugene knew from the way he was holding himself that he was feeling overwhelmed too. He heard footsteps approaching, coming from the hall that led to Haldane's study. He turned, expecting warm gray eyes, and was shocked, but not as shocked as he could have been, to encounter shrewd blue ones instead.  
"Skipper?" Eugene could almost laugh at the blank astonishment in Burgie's voice, but he was too busy taking the man in, eyes raking over him.  
"Boys," Jones said in greeting, smiling briefly, looking them over too. He was wearing an open-collared shirt and loose cut trousers, casual and simple, but he looked just the same. His clothes were neatly pressed, his hair clean and combed. The habitual furrow of his brow was marred by a slight concavity on the right side of his forehead, by the webbing of scars where the skin had healed together over it, but aside from those physical markers he seemed himself, sternly upright and clear-eyed. "Might take some time, but you'll have to get used to calling me Eddie."  
"Sir," Burgie said, and his voice shook. He stepped forward, looking lost, and Jones reached out and took his arm in a firm grip.  
"You did good, Burgin," he said, looking Burgie steadily in the face. "Got 'em all home." Burgie's mouth worked and he nodded jerkily. Jones kept his hold of Burgie as he looked over at Eugene, dipped his head in acknowledgement.  
"Captain-" Eugene started to say, and then there was a clatter of sound behind him, and he'd barely started to turn around before Florence all but flew into him. He stumbled back a bit as she threw her arms around him and squeezed tight, her head against his shoulder. "Florence."  
"Eugene, Eugene," she said, pulling back and smiling up at him. Eugene saw it on her face, pain and joy knit together. But Florence would always choose joy. He knew she could feel his jumble of emotions as well, knew she probably already had a good idea of everything that had happened. But she was inviting him to be happy with her, the way she had from the very beginning. He wrapped his arms around her waist, hugged her close.  
"Missed you, Flo," he muttered.  
"God, I missed you too, Eugene." She looked over at Burgie then. She kept her smile, but it turned uncertain, wavered at the edges. "Rom. I missed you too." She disentangled herself from Eugene, stepped up to Burgie. "Is it alright if I?" She lifted a hand.  
"Jesus Christ, Florence," Burgie said, sounding almost furious. He grabbed her, pulled her against him, his hands twisting in the fabric of her blouse. Florence wound her arms around his neck and clung on to him.   
"Eugene." He turned his head at Haldane's voice, saw that he had come up the hallway to stand beside Jones. He hadn't understood why he'd seen Jones so often in his visions of the estate's many futures, but then, he'd scarcely understood any of what he'd seen. But he watched Jones shift his stance just slightly, so that his left shoulder was lined up behind Haldane's right, like he was guarding his back. He saw the way their arms brushed against each other, how they stood more closely together than the hallway required. Some of his shock must have shown on his face, because they both smiled, Jones sharp, glancing over at Andy, and Haldane small and almost sheepish. "I can't say how happy I am to have you home," he said, simple and direct as always. "But there's something important I need to speak to you about."  
"Alright," Eugene said, a feeling like sinking stones coming over him. He followed Haldane back down the hallway, Jones clapping him reassuringly on the shoulder as he passed, and down into his study. Andy closed the door behind them and Eugene dropped into one of the seats in front of the desk, blinking in surprise when Andy took the free chair beside him.  
"I'm so sorry," he started out by saying, and Eugene felt himself pulling away and in. It was too much, being seen, cared for. "Coming home, what it means to come home, can be crushing. And I know you've been going through a particularly painful time, this last month or so." Eugene looked at him warily, ashamed and relieved that he didn't have to explain any of it to him. Haldane's gaze was gentle, unwavering. "I hate to add more turmoil on top of everything else, but I can't in good conscious let any more time pass." He reached over to his desk, picked up a letter that had been sitting in the corner. "This arrived for you, a couple weeks ago. I put it to the side for you to open when you got back, but just a few days later I received a phone call, and then several more phone calls over the course of the following week." Eugene recognized the handwriting immediately: a letter from Mary.  
"What's happened," he mumbled, lips numb. But he already knew. God, he couldn't take it, Sid couldn't be gone too. He'd never made it right, never made any of it right. And Mary, how he'd pulled her along on a string of empty hope, kept her hanging on for years, only for it to end like this. How was he going to face her? Haldane reached out and took his gloved hand.  
"It's not that," he said firmly. Eugene looked up at him. "Eugene. He woke up. He's awake."

* * *

  
Eugene was back on a train a couple hours later, still in his service uniform, clutching his sea bag and Mary's letter like they were the only things holding him to the earth. He'd barely heard a word anyone had said to him on his way out the door, couldn't make sense of their concerned expressions. He followed mindless and frantic after Andy, stared sightless down the tracks at the station until the train pulled up and he boarded, nodding dumbly to whatever it was Jones and Haldane were trying to tell him. He didn't eat and scarcely slept, just sat blankly and stared in front of him.  
Finally, finally, he stepped off the train in Mobile, stood frozen, lost. If Snafu were here, he'd stand close enough for their elbows to touch and say something disparaging to annoy him or make him laugh, get him moving. But he was alone. He shook his head to clear it, started looking around for a familiar face. He didn't know if someone was supposed to be there to meet him, or if he was supposed to find his own way home. He saw a black car out of the corner of his eye, pulled up where it didn't belong, close to the platform. There was a man standing in front of it, hands in his pockets. Eugene felt himself go still, like a hunted creature, heart beating a rapid staccato. He held tight to the letter as he turned to face him.  
There was a look of open dismay in Sid's face that he quickly covered, replacing it with a guarded grin. "Good to see you, Eugene," he said. But he was lying. But Eugene couldn't blame him for that.  
"You are," he said stupidly and Sid frowned. "I mean, you really are, I guess I didn't really believe it, even when Andy said." He forced his senselessly running mouth shut, forced himself to move forward, approach him. "Sid," he said, trying again. "It's good to see you, too."  
The silence ticked on just a moment too long for comfort and then, "C'mon," Sid said, turning away, towards the car. "I'll give you a ride home." Eugene obeyed leadenly, stowing his sea bag in the back and stuffing Mary's letter into his pocket before setting himself nervously in the seat beside Sid. He rubbed his gloved hands along his legs, saw Sid eyeing them warily.  
"It's just a precaution," he said, and Sid glanced up at him. "It's not like folk come up and grab my hands outta the blue, but it's best to be safe. Don't notice 'em so much anymore." Sid didn't say anything, just started the car and backed it up. "How are you? You feel like normal?"  
"Normal," Sid said with a harsh laugh. "Yeah, sure, I feel normal. Feel the same as I did before."   
"Except everything around you's shifted, and you haven't moved at all." Sid looked over at him in surprise. "It's the same for me, but in reverse. It's all the way I wanted it to be, but that's all wrong. You know?"  
"Yeah," Sid said, turning his attention back to the road. "Yeah, I think I do."  
"How's Mary?" Sid shook his head, smiling now, a real smile.  
"I'm gonna marry her, Eugene." Eugene couldn't help it, he laughed out loud, Sid had been saying that same line since they were eight years old. Sid grinned too. "I mean it, goddamn it. We're getting married, I asked her about half a day after I woke up, once I started to realize how much time I'd actually lost."  
That sobered him up, his smile falling away. "I'm happy for you, Sid. For both of you." He felt something wrenching free, words he'd been saying to a wall in his head for more than five years. "And I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry for what I did to you. Took from you. I know I can't-" and just like that he couldn't go on, couldn't force any more words out. He turned away, looked out the window and thought about Snafu, reaching out unafraid.  
Sid didn't say anything, and the rest of the drive passed by in heavy silence. They stopped in front of the gates leading up to the house and Eugene looked down the long drive. It seemed an impossible distance to walk all alone.   
"Hey." He turned back at Sid's tentative tone. Sid was looking at him hard, steady-eyed. "It's all fucked up, Eugene. I'm not gonna lie." Then he smiled, unsure. "But it'll get better. We'll get there."  
"Can we talk, later on?" Eugene blurted out. Sid frowned again. "Tomorrow, maybe? You can come here, or I can come see you. I just wanna-" Sid raised a hand, cutting him off.   
"Course we can talk, you idiot. Yeah, I'll come by some time tomorrow." He looked Eugene over again, that same dismayed look, and Eugene realized with a jolt that Sid was worried about him.  
"Okay," he said awkwardly. He climbed out of the car, reached in the back to grab his sea bag. "See you tomorrow." Sid smiled and Eugene closed the door and watched him drive off. Then he turned and walked up the drive to the house.


	21. Chapter 21

His first evening back in Mobile passed by in a stunning blur. Walking inside, his mother putting her hands carefully on his shoulders, tearful and trembling. His father taking his hand, his bag. Even Rose and Tee hovered over him, frightened and happy. Then Ed showed up and put a hesitant arm around his shoulder and tried to be amusing. They didn't know what to do about him, hadn't known what to do about him for more than five years. They loved him, and they tried so damn hard, but he was a strange creature to them, and his time away had only made it worse. Eugene sat through dinner and tried to remember how he would have acted before, what he might have said, but that person was gone. Hours later, he closed the door behind him in his room, pulled his gloves off and pressed his fingers hard against his eyes. Christ he was tired, it was unbelievable but he felt more bone tired in this moment than he ever had on Okinawa. He removed his clothes mechanically, looking around his room as he did so. His mother had kept it exactly the same, a shrine, he supposed, to the boy she had lost. He took the time to run his fingers along the fireplace mantle, lightly touch the childhood trinkets scattered along its length. Then he turned off the light and collapsed into his too-soft bed.  
That night, for the first time, he dreamed about the war.  
Maybe it was because he was alone. He smiled and shook his head when his mother asked him if he wanted cream or sugar, then went back to staring into his coffee. He hadn't slept alone in years, he'd always had one of them nearby, across the room from him at the very least. More often than not, he and Snafu had slept close enough to touch in some small way. Sure, he'd had the occasional nightmare, the sort that jerked him awake and had him staring around, confused and shaky. But they hadn't been like this, vivid, as large and horrible as life itself.   
"Now who could that be at this time of day?" His father said, getting up, and Eugene realized that someone was at the door. It was too early to be Sid. His mother handed him a biscuit, smothered in butter and topped with jam, watched him eagle-eyed until he took a bite. It tasted like innocence, like light-filled restless mornings, eating as quickly as possible so he could get out the door, find Sid or follow after Ed. It tasted like unquestioned safety, love.   
"Should I have Rose cut up some ham?" His mother asked. Eugene felt like weeping.  
"That would be nice," he managed to say, and his mother beamed.  
"Eugene," his father said, coming back into the room. "There's someone here to see you," and then Florence stepped into view behind him, looking nearly as tired and ragged as he felt.  
"Flo, what is it?" He said, standing up. She gave him a wobbly smile, and then looked uncertainly at his parents. "Here." He circled around the table, came to her side and touched her elbow. "It's alright," he said gently, holding her gaze, trying to make himself open for her. "Tell me."  
She wasn't gentle about it, as if she didn't have the control to be gentle like she usually was. There was a yank, and he found himself sitting beside her on her bed, in her room back at the estate. Florence buried her face in her hands and Eugene scooted closer and wrapped an arm around her.  
"I had to get out of there, Eugene," she said into her palms. "I know it was wrong of me, but I just had to. It's like he's not even there." She dropped her hands and glared around at her room, shoving the walls back. Eugene hadn't even noticed how they had been closing in until she forced them back into place. "If he would let me in, even a little, then he'd see. Really knowing him could only make it stronger, more precious. But he doesn't believe it."  
_You'd know, if you let me touch you._  
The ache grew, sharpened and dug deep. Florence looked over at him, instantly regretful, but Eugene squeezed her reassuringly with his arm, took her hand. "Don't, please." He tried to think of something comforting to say, but there was nothing. "Stay here with me for a bit. There's nothing wrong with needing some time to yourself."  
"Your parents wouldn't mind?"  
"My mother loves entertaining. Who knows, you may be all talked out in a day or so, might want to head back." Florence smiled at his poor joke, tucked her hair behind her ears.  
"Thank you, Eugene," she said, lifting him up, and he found himself looking down at her, standing in the doorway with his parents staring uneasily at them both.  
"Father, Mother," he said, keeping his hand at her elbow and turning back in towards them, "You remember Florence Risely? I've written you about her before."  
"Yes, of course," his father said. "Florence, please sit, have something to eat."  
"Would you like some coffee, dear?" his mother asked.  
"You can't make it dark enough to please her," Eugene said, pulling a chair back for Florence. "She likes it thick and black as tar."  
"You'll get there eventually, Eugene," Florence said, sinking gratefully down, smiling impishly. His mother started glowing like a lamp, looking speculatively back and forth between them, and Eugene realized his mistake.  
Florence was charmingly direct as always, assured and good humored, which only made matters worse. His parents jumped immediately to all the wrong conclusions, and Eugene could only smile weakly and shift in his seat as his mother questioned Florence eagerly about Melbourne, her family, her time at the estate with Eugene. Before he knew it they were all sitting outside around a pitcher of tea, Florence and his mother swapping family stories while his father looked on contentedly. When Sid's car pulled up and he and Mary climbed out, Eugene was so relieved that he sagged back in his chair.  
"Why Mary Frank, this morning has turned out to be quite the occasion," his father said happily as Sid and Mary walked over to join them. "Sid, Mary, meet Florence Risely. She's come down to see Eugene." He said it significantly, and Eugene gritted his teeth.  
"Mary," he said, standing up and coming to her, taking her hand. "I almost feel like we haven't been apart at all." She was just as lovely as he remembered her being, long dark hair pinned against the back of her head, creamy skin and tipped up green eyes. She smiled up at him, mouth trembling, eyes damp, and he felt an answering shot of tender feeling move through him. "Congratulations on your engagement."  
"Oh, Eugene," she said, clutching his gloved hand. "I can't begin to." Her voice dropped away and she raised a hand to her eyes. Eugene looked at Sid for help, but he had a surprisingly grim look on his face, was watching Eugene closely.   
"Come on, Mary," he said gently. "Come meet Florence." Mary recovered a bit, lowered her hand and smiled over at Florence.  
"It's a pleasure to meet you," she said. "I've heard so much about you already." She sat down in the seat Eugene had abandoned, and Eugene looked over at Sid, inclined his head. Sid nodded, and the two of them stepped away, started making their way slowly across the lawn. There was something brooding in Sid's face. He had never had the patience for that sort of thing before, but Eugene supposed waking up and realizing that you'd lost more than five years of your life could make anyone sullen. He didn't try to hide the fact that he was watching him, and it didn't take long for Sid to glance over at him, scowling defensively.  
"What?" He asked.  
"You can just say it," Eugene said, shrugging uncomfortably when Sid raised a brow. "Whatever you want to say. Chances are I've already thought it myself."  
"So that's why you came back home, huh?" Sid said. "Wanna hear me cuss you out, tell you how I hate you?"  
"I don't wanna hear it," Eugene answered, looking away. "But you've got the right to say it to me."  
"You don't know one damned thing, Eugene." It sounded so much like the Sid in his head, it was almost a comfort. "Hell, of course I'm mad. I'm furious. Furious that you thought you should go run off and join a war, thought that would make something up to somebody. What the hell were you thinking?"  
It hadn't taken any time at all for him to lose complete track of the conversation. "I don't know," he muttered, feeling a little panicked, looking around for something to latch on to. "You couldn't do any of the things you'd planned. It was my fault. I thought I could." He shook his head, adrift.  
"Thought you could just step in, live my life instead of your own. Steal my life and treat yours like it was already over." Sid said it hard and cutting, staring Eugene down.  
"No," Eugene started to say, although Sid wasn't wrong, God, he wasn't wrong, but Sid talked over him.  
"Why'd you think I would've ever wanted you to go fight in a war, huh? That ain't you." He laughed, bitter. "Hell, from what I read in those letters you sent to Mary, I don't think it's for me much, either, and don't think I couldn't tell how you were watering it all down for her."  
"You read those?" Sid nodded sharply.  
"Don't get me started on those fucking letters either. What do you think it feels like, reading my own heart spilled out on a page in your handwriting? Jesus." He was shaking with anger now, Eugene remembered what it felt like to have all that roiling strength and nothing to turn it on.  
"Just thought she should know," he said, fighting to keep his own voice even. "I didn't want her to give up on hoping."  
"Well, maybe she should have," Sid almost shouted. "Five years, my God. She wasted five years sitting around waiting on me. I can't-" he broke off, spun away.  
"It's not a waste," Eugene said, suddenly angry too. "Try saying that shit to Mary, see if she thinks it was a waste. You woke up, didn't you? She waited on that chance, and she got it." Sid was turned half-in, half-out, glaring at Eugene from the corner of his eye, listening. Eugene clenched his teeth together and tried to parse through the tangle of his thoughts. "It's the one thing I know for sure, Sid," he said eventually. "We only got so many chances. Mary's brave, braver than me. She went after the chance she wanted. You can call it waiting around and wasting her life if you want, but that just proves that you're a jackass."  
Sid blinked, and then burst out in surprised laughter. Eugene felt his lips twitching, and then he was laughing too, feeling near giddy with confusion and hope. They laughed for longer than the comment deserved, then stood grinning at each other, as if they were still the best of friends. Sid looked down at the ground, then back up at Eugene, blue eyes bright. "Guess you got yourself another chance, too," he said. Eugene frowned and Sid tilted his head back the way they had come. "That girl, Florence. I was planning on laying into you as soon as you stepped off the train, but you looked," he stopped, shrugging uncertainly. "Well, horrible. She have something to do with it?"  
"No," Eugene said tightly, looking away. "Florence is just a friend. A good friend."  
"Well, what is it then?" Sid said after a moment. He grimaced when Eugene looked over at him. "Something that happened over there?"   
He was still worried about him. Eugene wondered briefly what he looked like, to have Sid worried over him when by all rights the man should hate him. "It's not just one thing," he said, looking down at his gloved hands. "But there was someone." He shook his head. "Truth is, I haven't managed to do a single thing right. I keep trying to walk a straight line, but that don't exist. I just keep doubling back, knotting around on the same scrap of a good intention."  
"What's her name?" Sid asked. Eugene thought about lying. He hadn't ever told Sid. Back then, he'd scarcely known himself. He'd ignored the occasional shots of confusing desire that he felt for the boys he knew, didn't question his lukewarm interest in the girls. But after what he did to Sid, after he'd had to accept that he was a mutant, that he would spend the rest of his life with his hands covered, that he wouldn't ever touch anyone, well. After that, it was surprisingly easy to admit the truth to himself. It was just semantics, after all. He wouldn't ever have a relationship like that. He couldn't have predicted Snafu.  
"Merriell," he said finally, looking at Sid. "His name is Merriell."  
"Oh," Sid said. And then again, drawn out. "Oh." He shoved his hands in his pockets, stared down at the ground. Eugene waited, and it didn't take as long as he thought it would for Sid to look back up at him. "Makes sense, I guess.".  
"It does?" Sid might as well have punched him, he was that breathless with surprise.  
"Yeah. I always wondered why you weren't half in love with Mary like all the rest of us. You said you were, but I knew you were lying. You're a terrible liar, I ever tell you that?"  
"Quite a bit, yeah," Eugene answered, fighting down a smile. Sid caught him at it and grinned big.  
"So where is he? This Merriell." Eugene saw him again, turned away, leaning in towards red lips.   
"I don't know." He pressed his hand hard against his face to stop whatever expression it might be trying to take. Where was he, how was he? Would he ever come back home? And could he do anything differently if he did?  
"Eugene." He lowered his hand to look back at Sid. "You can tell me, you know? I wanna know." He shifted in and bumped their arms together. "The good and bad."  
"Thanks, Sid," he croaked. He knew he was falling to pieces, Sid watching it happen. "I want to tell you. I've missed talking to you." Sid nodded jerkily and looked away, let Eugene collect himself.  
They stood together in silence for another moment, then turned and started heading back. "Mary and I are getting married in a couple weeks," Sid said idly. Eugene stopped, and Sid stopped too, turning to face him. "It'll be small, just family. Not interested in a long engagement at this point." He smiled sourly, but then it changed, turned mischievous. "I want you to be my best man."  
Eugene thought he might weep. He thought he should say no, he didn't deserve it, Sid was just feeling sorry for him and couldn't possibly mean it. Instead, he felt a grin tugging away at his mouth. "Well," he said slowly, rocking back on his heels. "Hell yes."

* * *

  
They talked every day.   
Sid turned up each morning, sometimes by himself, sometimes with Mary. When Mary came along, Eugene and Florence would pile into the car and the four of them would set off together; Sid always had some half formed idea of what they should do with their day. When he showed up on his own, Eugene would leave Florence chatting with his parents and he and Sid would head out on foot, treading old, well-known paths, revisiting their childhood haunts. Conversation between them wasn't always easy. Sid was still angry, and not for the reasons Eugene had expected him to be. But he listened to Eugene, listened avidly. Eugene surprised himself with all that he told him. He told him about the mutants they had encountered, told the story behind his white-streaked hair and its accompanying scar. He told him about Haney, Jones, Haldane. Burgie and Jay and Bill. He told him about Snafu, but not much. He couldn't seem to speak long about him without starting to lose control of his voice, his body. Sid didn't push it.  
He and Florence were in agreement that they would stay until after Sid and Mary's wedding and then head back to the estate. Florence was enjoying Mobile and his family, but he knew she was longing for home. He was too. Meanwhile, his mother went on gently digging, trying to get Eugene to admit to a romance between himself and Florence. It made him think back with pained horror on his ridiculous notion of bringing Snafu home to meet his family. How he'd been so caught up in tenderness, seeing a future for them that didn't exist. If he had said something different, just one important thing, would that have been enough to change it all, enough to start carving out a different sort of ending for them? But those chances were gone, wasted.  
Soon enough he was standing beside Sid, watching him promise himself to Mary. It was just family, like Sid had said, and none of them were too pleased to see Eugene. Sid's parents were alright, were more comfortable around mutants, it running in the family like it did, and more willing to forget for an hour or so that Eugene was the reason their son had lost more than five years of his life. Mary's parents, on the other hand, had never approved of Sid in the first place, and they certainly didn't have anything but coldly frightened glares for Eugene. Eugene kept his face as politely neutral as he could manage and focused on the ceremony.  
Afterwards he and Florence stood to the side and waited until Sid and Mary had a free moment. "We're having a dinner at my daddy's house after this," Mary said when she and Sid finally made their way over to them. She made a moue of distaste. "But it's going to be awful."  
"The Hatfields and McCoys don't have nothing on us," Sid said. "If I couldn't break every bone is his body, Mary's father would have me strung up by now." Mary just hummed happily and leaned against his arm. "Let us give you two a ride home, get away from them for a bit."  
"You've convinced us," Eugene said dryly. They climbed into the car and set off through the town. Mary and Sid wound their fingers together and Eugene felt like his heart could break from all the wringing happiness and grief. Florence touched his arm, then leaned forward to poke half her body up between the two of them.  
"So what's next?" She asked brightly. "Are you two planning on staying around here?"  
"For now," Mary answered. "Sid wants to start at the university, and I think I do, too."  
"After that, who knows?" Sid said. "Hell, maybe we'll come up to Massachusetts, meet this Haldane of yours and see what he's all about."  
"Oh, that would be wonderful!" Florence exclaimed. "You'd love him, the both of you."  
"Careful Sid, folk have a habit of not leaving once they've met Andy," Eugene said.  
"That don't sound so bad," Sid said, grinning into the review mirror at him. Eugene grinned back, happiness winning out.  
They pulled through the gates at Eugene's home, and Florence made a funny little sound in her throat. Eugene looked over at her; she had gone pale, and her hands were half lifted towards her face, like she had started a motion and forgotten to finish it. "What is it?" He asked, but she just shook her head. She didn't wait for the car to stop, just squeezed her way between Mary's seat and the door and tumbled out as it started to slow. "Flo," Eugene called after her, but she didn't answer or turn back, disappearing into the house.  
"What in the world," Mary said faintly, climbing out of her seat and moving aside so Eugene could clamber out after her.  
"Should we come in with you?" Sid asked.  
"No, you two go on," Eugene answered distractedly. "We'll see you tomorrow." Sid said something in agreement but Eugene scarcely heard him, following after Florence into the house. His mother and father were standing there with matching expressions of scandalized shock. They were looking towards the sitting room. Eugene stepped up to join them, and saw Florence and Burgie locked together in an embrace. Florence wasn't much shorter than him, but Burgie had her pulled so tightly against him that her feet had left the floor. Florence's hands were on either side of his face as they kissed, and kissed and kissed. When they finally pulled apart, Burgie tilted his head down and in so they could press their foreheads together. His mouth was working, and Florence was crying and smiling, and they weren't saying a word out loud, but Eugene knew they were sharing something deeper than words, truer than language.  
"Why, I'll throw her right out," Eugene's mother said, outraged and offended, and Eugene suddenly remembered all their assumptions.  
"No," he said quietly, gesturing to them to follow him out of the house. He closed the door behind them, leaving Burgie and Florence to their reunion. "Florence is just a friend," he said firmly. "It's been her and Burgie from the start."  
"He's one of the boys you served with?" His father asked. Eugene nodded.  
"That and more. He's one of the best men in the world, Father. It ain't nothing but a joy to me to see him and Flo together, like they should be."  
"Then why do you look so unhappy, Eugene?" His mother asked, reaching up and stroking his hair daringly. Her soft touch set loose a torrent of memories, sweet enough to choke him, break him down. He thought about Burgie choosing to show himself, share himself. The bravery and trust it took. He thought about Mary, gambling on a day that might never have come, staring down the odds. Something flipped and turned over in his chest, something pulled loose from his throat and head and heart and dropped away, left him bleeding.  
"I just. Just gotta." He turned and walked away, abandoning his mumbled attempt to respond. He made his way sightlessly across the lawn.  
He was a coward, and it had shaped every terrible decision from the start. Choosing to live for Sid because he couldn't face what it might mean to live for himself. Too weak to stop himself from falling in love, too afraid to give in to it, fight for it. Refusing to look at his own self, confront his powers. He had chosen from the beginning to cover himself up, and had chosen each day to keep it that way. He reached out for Andy, found him waiting for him.  
_I'm here, Eugene._  
_You said it wasn't a battle between my body and mind. You said that if I ever wanted to try and take these gloves off..._ He could feel Haldane's warm approval, the strength of his belief in him.  
_Yes. Come home._


	22. Chapter 22

Three days later he stood with Haldane and looked out across a vast and rolling grassland. In reality they were sitting together on the floor of Andy's study, but when Eugene had closed his eyes and let Haldane sweep over him, he had reopened them to this. He had the feeling that it was limitless, that he could walk for days or years and never find where it began or ended. It was also strangely patchwork, verdant green interspersed with parched and brittle brown. He could see scattered stonework in the distance, cutting offensively arbitrary across the land.   
"We won't know until we try," Haldane said. "But I believe your abilities are still inchoate." He gestured outward at Eugene's confused frown. "Look at it, Eugene. Imagine what could grow here, if you let it."  
"I'm not stopping it," Eugene protested. "I don't even-" He trailed off, spotting a bit of broken down wall. He knew that wall, remembered throwing the stones atop one another all haphazard, because he had been desperate, because Tadashi had been stronger than him. "I don't understand."  
"You slammed the first wall down as your powers were just starting to bloom. Each time you touched someone you built another. You've been sectioning yourself off, keeping it from growing. Covering it with walls that don't belong."  
"If I get rid of the walls, I'll be able to control it?" Haldane lifted a hand.  
"It's different for each of us. But the walls are preventing you from knowing your own gifts."  
"Gifts," Eugene echoed. He looked down at his hands, bare here, uncovered. Was it a gift, could he possibly view it as a gift and not a curse? There was only one way to know. He set off towards the first crumbling wall.  
He hadn't built anything to keep Kiyo separate, had let her move as she pleased. Maybe that was why he felt faint traces of her as he went along, a musical tinkle, a whiff of mugwort and fennel. The evidence of his struggle with Tadashi, however, was everywhere. Eugene tore the walls apart as he came across them, some of them broke easily, others he had to melt away with hands full of thick fire. If he had been allowed, Tadashi would have dedicated his life to knowing his powers, understanding and mastering himself. But they hadn't let him, and he'd fed himself on dreams of a future where his power won him a measure of regard from his keepers. It was painful, dismantling those many walls. Tadashi had convinced him for a time that love was a weakness, and Eugene knew any time he dreamed of fire and men screaming as they tried to crawl their way free of their own charring flesh, he would be dreaming with Tadashi.   
Wildflowers were springing up all around him, a wild array of colors and shapes. They were bursting from the grass regardless of whether it was soft and green or crackling dry brown. But the brown was fading away too, turning a soft yellow and deepening towards gold.  
He found the little stone chamber that he had buried Turner in. Eugene took it apart with shame, remembering the sounds of helpless weeping that he could hear coming from the other side, he hadn't been able to build it up thick enough to keep the noise contained. Turner had been consumed by fear, but even then Eugene had known that his mind wasn't ruined, he had simply been overpowered by all the horrors he'd seen. Eugene hadn't tried to talk to him, had just locked him away and tried not to hear him. The stones smelled like ash and fear sweat, streaked his hands with dirt and blood.  
The flowers were shooting up as tall as trees now, or maybe they were trees, had always been trees. Eugene moved slowly between them, careful not to tread on the smaller growths. There was a tremor beneath his feet, soft and muted.  
And here was Masao's prison. He had nearly won out in their struggle for control, but Eugene had been stronger in the end. When he'd finally managed to throw Masao down, he'd built four walls as thick as hate all around him and roofed it with the feeling of bones cracking beneath a heavy hand, the pained sounds that Masao had pulled from the mouths of men. Then he'd hammered against it with all the strength he'd ripped from Masao, drove it into the earth. Masao had paced back and forth along the walls, but hadn't been able to break free. He was a murderer, bloody minded and brutal, and yet he had agreed to go to Peleliu to protect his daughter, the only creature he loved. Eugene used his ruthless, implacable strength to separate the stones, one by one.  
The earth was shaking violently now, something huge roiling beneath it, struggling to burst free. Eugene fought against fearing it. He saw Snafu, dirty and blue-eyed, the cigarette held up between them. _Last chance, Sledgehammer._  
Sid hadn't ever hated him for what had happened. Somehow, knowing that made it easier to start in on that last, great wall. The first wall. Eugene pulled it apart with Sid's familiar strength, remembering all the apologies he had made to him on the other side, remembering Sid's disgruntled replies. Why hadn't he trusted him, his best friend? It was the fear, it had always been the fear, keeping him separate and apart from the people he loved and needed the most. Eugene pried the last stone free from where it had settled down into the earth, saw a white flower bloom up in the spot. Then the earth was erupting, shaking apart beneath his feet. Eugene stumbled, and Haldane pulled him back up.   
"Let's step back," he said. "Give yourself a little space." Eugene let him lead him, carry him, away, and up, so he could look down at the vast forest that was rising ripe and green as far as he could see.  
"I don't feel right," he said to Haldane, moments later, after he had come back to his own body, and then swooned like a girl, and Haldane had helped him to the chair in the corner of the room and he had collapsed back against it, breathless and shaky. "My skin's humming all over like it's hungry." The sensation was everywhere, but it was strongest in his hands. Eugene rubbed them vigorously against his legs, but that didn't help. He peeled his gloves off and wrung them against themselves. The feeling eased, but it didn't go away.   
"This is where we begin learning real control," Haldane said. He was kneeling in front of the chair, composed and steady. "The key is to stay calm."  
"Will it always feel like this?" Eugene asked. He didn't know how this was any better than before, Christ, it was like an itch beneath his flesh.  
"We can't know at this point. Try this." Haldane's voice had gone low and rhythmic, like he was soothing a skittish horse. "Focus on just one hand. Forget the rest of your body. Try to quiet just that one hand."  
Eugene settled his hand on his knee, turned it palm up. He stared down at it, tried to focus in on the humming want. _A gift_ , he thought to himself. _It can be a gift._ The humming grew less restless, stilled. Eugene looked up at Haldane, saw him smiling warm and proud.  
"Good," he said. "Now, hold on to that feeling." And he reached out, slowly, giving Eugene the space to stop him, and placed his palm against Eugene's own. Eugene closed his fingers reflexively around his hand, felt old calluses and bone and warm skin. There was nothing else. His throat clamped shut on a swell of feeling, he took a wrenching breath. He clutched on to Andy's hand and pressed his face against the side of the chair and wept.

* * *

  
"Of course I think it's a good idea," Haldane said, months later.  
"You just made the man's day, Sledge," Jones said, walking on Haldane's other side. "You know how he feels about getting an education."  
"I don't wanna stop what I'm doing here, either," Eugene said. "Feel like I'm making progress." The three of them were meandering the estate grounds together. The captain made it a point to force Haldane out of the house a couple times a day, and when Eugene had poked his head in the study and asked if he could talk to them about something, Jones had happily dropped his newspaper and steered them outside. It was the height of summer, and as hot as it was going to get. It couldn't compare to the southern heat of Eugene's youth, not to mention the islands of the Pacific, but it was warm enough that Eugene had taken off his gloves and stuck them in his back pocket, loosened his tie so he could open up the collar of his shirt. He could do that sort of thing, these days.  
"There's room for both," Haldane said. "It's a rare and brave undertaking, to pursue a thing simply for your own joy." He didn't look at Jones, but Eugene could tell from the way his eyes crinkled, and from the way Jones smiled fleetingly and glanced to the side, that he was referring to them.  
Seeing Haldane happy made Eugene realize how little he had grasped about the man in his time at the estate before the war. Looking back, it was clear that he had been alone in many ways, that he hadn't really had anyone to confide in, to turn to when in doubt. He and Jones seemed to have slotted together like interlocking gears, like they had been built for each other, but Eugene knew nothing was ever so seamless and easy. He didn't know what struggles the two of them might have gone through to bring them to this point, where Haldane shaved in the mornings because it was a known fact that the skipper appreciated a man who took the time to keep himself neat, where Jones reached over and flicked the lamp off each night and brusquely herded Haldane out of his study and up the stairs, but he was damn glad they had managed it.  
"I'm still not sure what I should study. That's what I wanted to talk about with the both of you." He glanced off through the trees as they crossed the old worn path they used to run in the mornings. It was still used, but not by them. "I was thinking something to do with finance, or maybe journalism. Wanna do something to help the school."  
"You already do that," Jones said. "Don't think about it like that."  
"Anything you dedicate yourself to would benefit the school, Eugene. You should choose something you feel called to." Eugene knew by his words that Haldane already had an idea of what that might be, but was letting him arrive at it in his own time.  
He'd thought about it, thought about it a lot. Turned it over in his head on nights when he lay in bed and had to think about something to get his mind off Snafu, off of the war. But all the subjects that interested him seemed too frivolous. What was the use in learning about fucking flowers when they were fighting every day to shed light on what had been done, what was being done, to mutants all across the world? Burgie and Flo had already made several trips to D.C., where Burgie was using what clout he had as the only mutant recognized for his service to the Marines to raise awareness. And Bill was still on the road, visiting the communities they knew of, gathering stories and encouraging folk to come out of hiding.   
But that wasn't the truth either. The truth was, it was frightening to contemplate doing something simply to please himself, something that he couldn't say was for a purpose other than his own enjoyment. Eugene rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the ground, feeling stupidly embarrassed. "Biology," he muttered. "I've been thinking I might enjoy biology."  
"Well, how 'bout that," Jones said, straight faced, the smile solely in his voice.

* * *

  
"It's a black gum tree," Eugene said, startling the boy who had been standing beneath it. He spun around and Eugene saw that he had a scarf of some sort wrapped tightly around his neck and chin, pulled up far enough that it covered his mouth. Eugene grimaced apologetically and raised a hand in greeting. "Sorry. Didn't mean to come up on you unawares. I'm Eugene Sledge." He stepped forward and held out a gloved hand, and the boy hesitated a long moment before shaking it quickly. "You're John, right? Andy said I should come by and meet you. Care to come sit with me while I smoke?" He waited for John to nod his agreement, then turned and made his way to the house's side entrance, where a couple of chairs sat empty. It was too cold to be sitting outside, but he hadn't smoked all day, and he was warm enough in his shearling jacket.   
He had finished with classes for the day, had been making his way home when Haldane brushed gently against his mind, asking if he had the time to stop by the school, he had a new student he wanted Eugene to meet. Eugene had gone by the house he shared with Burgie and Florence to drop off his books and grab his pipe, then set off for Haldane's.   
They had moved out at the beginning of the year, right before Eugene started classes. Haldane had a whole group of new students and space was getting tight at the estate, and anyways Eugene and Burgie had both been wanting some quiet. They were still at the estate most days, but at the end of them they were able to come home to something a little more peaceful. But they hadn't moved far, were close enough that Eugene had chosen to walk to Haldane's, cutting across roads and wooded patches and cold bare fields as the light faded, reaching the drive leading up to the estate just as the dark won out. He had found the boy in the circle drive, staring up at that tree.  
Now he packed his pipe, watching him, John, settle uneasily in the chair beside him. "Where you from?" He asked, starting small. He had only done this sort of thing a couple of times before. It was new to him, too. John pulled a pen and a small notebook out from his pocket, wrote something down and turned it around to show it to him. Eugene leaned forward to read it, the light coming through the doorway was just enough for him to make out the words. "London? Never been. Maybe someday." He lit his pipe and let the smoke fill his mouth. Heat and men laughing loud and rough, and a leg pressed warm against his own. He pushed it away. "Andy thinks I might be a help to you. Help you get a grasp of your powers. Sometimes all it takes is another viewpoint." John wrote quickly on his notepad.  
_I don't see that happening. Did he tell you?_  
"No. Andy tends to let that sort of thing come out in its own good time, long as he doesn't think there's an immediate danger to others. It should be something we share when we're ready, you know? There's no rush, we don't gotta do anything tonight."  
 _I'll show you, I don't care who knows. I don't see what Haldane thinks you can do that he can't_. Eugene looked carefully at John's face after he read his words. His eyes were an open challenge. He was angry, hopelessly defiant. He was already thinking about leaving, Eugene realized, thinking he couldn't be helped.   
"Alright," he said mildly. "Show me. Please." John glared at him, then opened his coat. Eugene saw that the scarf continued down from his neck, wrapping tight around his shoulders and torso. John started to unwind the fabric.  
There was a furnace where his ribs and lungs should be, licking flame where he should have had a mouth and throat. Eugene felt a flicker of horror and brushed it away. He couldn't show any of that.  
"I can see why Haldane thought I might be able to help," he murmured, thinking about Tadashi. The nature of their powers were different, of course, but he was familiar with fire, with how quickly fine control could give way to conflagration. "Did this happen when your powers first manifested?" John nodded and started wrapping himself back up, locking the fire away. "More than one reason why he thought of me, then." He smoked his pipe and waited for John to resettle himself before going on. "I had an accident too, when my own showed up. Hurt a good friend of mine, spent a lot of years too afraid to try and move on from it. It's only just recently that I've started to see the good that I can do with it." John picked his notepad and pen back up.  
_What's yours, then?_  
"Knowing a person," Eugene answered. "Really knowing them, better than I know myself." John stared at him, lost, still raging. "If I touch a person, I can absorb them. Memories, abilities. Everything. For a long time I couldn't do it without hurting the person I touched. But these days, if they know what's coming, if they're willing," he shrugged, couldn't stop the smile that he knew was spreading across his face. He still scarcely believed it himself. "It don't hurt them at all."  
_I don't know. It sounds dangerous. And why would I want you to know everything?_  
Eugene nodded as he read it. "That's the most frightening part, I know. The fact that someone else will know it all. And it only runs one way, I can't give anything. I can only take. It's another reason why it shouldn't be rushed. We shouldn't be strangers to each other if and when we decide to try it."  
_So what is this, an invitation for the two of us to become chums?_  
"Well, yes." He laughed at the expression in John's eyes. "I didn't expect it either, when I first came here. Came with a purpose in mind, bound and determined to see it through. I didn't know at the time that I was meeting the most important people in my life." Indecision had replaced the doubt on John's face. "We don't gotta be the best of friends by the end of the night or nothing. Just, let's try and get to know each other. I can show you around town, or maybe the university. You can come by my place some time if you like. I live close by, with Burgie and Florence. Have you met them yet?" John started scratching something out on his notepad.  
 _You live with R.V. Burgin?_  
Eugene had to fight to not burst out laughing again. Burgie had indeed made history as the only mutant to serve openly and officially with the Marines. "Yeah, I live with the man. We served together." Maybe he should have opened with that, from the look of awe that John was giving him. "I got class tomorrow, but you could drop by afterwards if you like. I can try to answer any questions you got." Christ, he hated talking about the war, but if that was what it took to get John to start to warm up to him, then so be it. John nodded slowly and started writing out on his notepad again, and Eugene relaxed, just a bit. He wasn't thinking about leaving, at least not for the next couple of days. That was something, a good first step.

* * *

  
"I've noticed you here before."  
Eugene looked over in surprise, saw that a man had slid into the empty seat next to him. He'd had too much to drink, and it had made him morose. The night had been going well enough; after talking with John he'd gone inside to say hello to Jay and the bastard had ended up convincing him to go out for a drink or two. He'd really wanted to go home, but Jay was leaving in a couple of weeks, heading to California with Fran, and Eugene wanted to spend time with him while he still could. They intended to settle there; Fran came from a tight knit community of mutants and she was planning on taking what she had learned from Haldane and using it to start building her own school of sorts, a place on the opposite coast for mutants to come to when they needed help. It was exciting, the beginning of something big and important, a chain of connection that would span the length of the country. Eugene knew all that, but mostly he just thought about how he didn't know when he would next see Jay.  
So he'd gone along with him, settled in at the bar and tossed a couple back and had a good time. Jay had offered to give him a ride home, but Eugene had said he preferred to walk. After Jay left, he stayed where he was and ordered another drink, then another. He stared at his gloved hands set against the scratched and worn wood of the bar and thought about all the ways his future seemed bright, and all the ways it seemed grim and gray.  
"Oh?" He said blankly, realizing the man was still waiting on him to reply. He blinked a couple of times to try and clear his head. "Yeah, I come here now and then. Eugene Sledge." He held out a hand and the man shook it.  
"Cold?" He asked, tipping his head to indicate the gloves.  
"Always," Eugene lied with a laugh, pulling his hand free. He didn't really need to wear them anymore, but it had become a habit. These days he thought of them as a reminder to be vigilant, to treat sensation like the gift that it was. "Been living here for years now and I still ain't used to the winters."  
"I've lived here my whole life, and I'm not used to them either," the man said. He propped his elbow on the bar and leaned against it, his body turned towards Eugene. "I'm Roger Bronson."  
"Pleasure," Eugene mumbled, looking the man over. "You look familiar to me, too. Guess I have seen you here. It's a good place."  
"Best one in town. Cheap drinks, known faces. Nice faces." Eugene nodded in agreement and drained his glass. The walk home was going to be one long, cold stumble. "I've seen you here with different people, but haven't ever seen you leave with anyone in particular." Eugene looked sharply over at him at that, but the man just seemed friendly, curious and interested. He had brown eyes, keen and lively. There wasn't any subtle threat there that he could pick out, but all the same, he decided, it was time to head home.  
"Suppose you wouldn't," he answered, not knowing what else to say. He pulled his wallet out of his pocket, laid some bills on the counter.  
"Don't run off," Roger said. "It's just a shame, that's all I was trying to say. It can get lonely, you know?" And he set his hand down right next to Eugene's so that they grazed against each other. His heart picked up its pace as he realized what was happening.  
"Oh," he said, surprised, thrown. He turned and looked at the man, looked carefully.  
He was handsome, classically so, instead of hypnotically arresting. He was taller than Eugene, broader of shoulder, not slight and lean and just a hair shorter. His hair was dark, but not dark enough, and slicked back instead of curling all thick and wild. Eugene let himself imagine it, following the man home, undressing each other, finding a little relief, a little companionship. Maybe they would like each other, have more in common than loneliness and a preference. Maybe he was someone worth knowing. But Eugene was still waiting on one last chance. He wasn't ready to give up on it, not yet.  
"No," he said. "Thank you, I'm flattered, but." He fumbled, felt himself flushing. For some reason it felt like a betrayal. "But, there's someone. They just ain't here at the moment."  
"I see," Roger said. He looked disappointed, but not hurt. "Well, you can find me here if that ever changes. You have a good night, Eugene Sledge."  
"You too," Eugene said, dipping his head in acknowledgement as he pushed away from the bar and made for the door. He stepped out into the cold, set his feet for home. He tried to fight off the wave of bitterness that moved through him at the prospect of his quiet room, his empty bed. He thought about Kiyo, about her belief that it was meaningless to look back on the past with regret. She was right in many ways, but Jesus, if he had only been braver, held on tighter. It had been nearly a year since he'd returned home, since Snafu stepped off the train while he was sleeping. He didn't know if the man would ever come back, or if he would still feel the same when he did. Some days it felt like the waiting was killing him, like a little piece of him got scraped away with every day of not knowing that passed by. But he knew what future he wanted, what road.  
_Come back_ , he thought, walking home in the dark, thinking about nights under the stars, days of heat and fear and rare, baffling love. _Give me one last chance. I won't waste it_.


	23. Chapter 23

"So, after all that, turned out to be a whole lotta nothing. Humans will blame any old thing on mutants, or a warning from God, or U.F. fucking Os." Merriell peered out the window of Haldane's study, trying to make out the landscape through the gloom. He knew it, of course, how the land sloped away and down until it met the treeline, knew it like the back of his hand, just like he knew the steps that would take him down the hall and up the stairs to his own room, although surely by now it wasn't his room any more, belonged to someone else.  
"Of course it's still your room, Merriell." He grunted and turned around at that, sauntered a slow circle around the study, trying to act like it didn't matter, but it was useless to try and hide something like that from Haldane. "Though I have to admit that it's now Bill's room too. I moved a new student into his this spring."  
"Shit, that don't matter. Don't know that I could even sleep these days without listening to the boy raking up the coals." He came and settled back into the seat in front of Haldane's desk. "Anyways, we're thinking we should move on. Things are settling down. Got a hold of De L'Eau, said he'd be coming up this way to check on the folk here in a month or so, make sure they're still doing alright."  
"Sounds like you have it well handled." Haldane leaned back in his seat, steepled his fingers together. "Where do the two of you plan to head next?"  
"Wherever. No place in particular comes to mind." Merde, why did he even bother trying to lie, the man already knew the truth. He purposefully didn't look at Haldane, glanced over the objects on his desk instead. "Heard any rumors you want us to look into?"  
"No. We're having some issues at the capital, but Burgin and Florence have that under control." Merriell nodded and tapped his hands together restlessly, let his eyes drag their way slowly up until they met Haldane's. He smiled at him, small and warm. "You can ask me, Merriell. Anything you want."  
They always ended their conversations this way, Haldane inviting his questions, Merriell always asking something other than what he really wanted to know. _How's he doing_ , he almost asked once, but instead asked, "How's Haney?" That was how he learned that Haney had moved to town and was sweet on a seamstress who lived in the same apartment building as him, that he still managed to get to the estate each morning before the sun so he could bawl Haldane's students out of bed and out the door for drills. _Is he happy_ , he had come close to asking another time, but instead he had looked down at the ring on Haldane's finger and asked, "How come you been wearing that all the time?" Haldane had looked at the ring in surprise, then smiled all soft and said, "You know, I didn't even notice it?" That was how Merriell learned that Andy was well and truly in love, that Captain Jones helped out with the school here and there, but had quickly shown a penchant for numbers, and had eventually taken on the task of handling Haldane's finances, to the man's great relief.  
Now, _What does he smile for, these days_ , was the ridiculous fucking question that drifted across his mind as he stared back at Haldane. No way was he going to ask that. But he slumped down in his seat and looked over Haldane's shoulder towards the dark window. He lived for the little tidbits of news that Haldane shared with him during these conversations, greedily consumed every story about Burgie and Flo, about Haney and Jones. Some days it seemed to be the only thing he had to look forward to, stories from a place he had told himself he wouldn't ever see again. But now, sitting here in a room where he'd spent countless hours, with the person he trusted most in the world, now...  
"You think I should come back home?" He was embarrassed by his own voice, how he couldn't filter out the defeated longing, the raw concession that it revealed.   
"Merriell," Haldane said gently. "I've always thought you should come home."  
"Yeah, well." He stared hard at the black pane, focused on breathing and clamping down on the rush of bittersweet feeling threatening to undo him. "Maybe."  
"You take as much time as you need. Your room will still be here waiting for you." With that, Haldane let him go, and Merriell found himself back in his body, sitting on the roof of the home they had been staying at. Merriell had climbed through his window to escape Bill's snoring and the soft sounds of folk talking and moving around in other rooms. It was a sanctuary house, so many of the mutants there were restless and transient. It gave the whole place an unsettled sort of feeling. He had always hated sanctuary houses and their like, despite the good purpose they served. Maybe it was because he knew he could have easily ended up in one of them instead of at Haldane's, all those years ago. His whole life could have gone some other way. The last year and change hadn't been terrible, but he wasn't exactly enjoying the extended reminder of how goddamn lucky he had been either.  
Life was fucking hard out here for their kind. He'd known that, of course, but years spent safe and on a secluded estate where he was able to use his powers freely had given him a little distance from that harsh reality. Even with the Marines he hadn't needed to hide anything; that had been the whole point of them being there, after all. But for regular folk trying to make their way in the world there were only a few options. They could hide who they were, bury it deep and never let anyone know, and that was only if they could get away with it, if their mutation hadn't marked them physically. If it had, or if they were unwilling to live in denial, they found a community and knit themselves tight and close into it, gathered in secret and shared news and encouragement in hushed tones and veiled phrases. They weren't ever safe, and neither were the people they loved. Sometimes Merriell wondered if he and Bill were doing the right thing, traveling from town to town, encouraging them to come out of hiding. But Haldane was right, nothing would ever change if they couldn't band together and step forward. And it had been the right call, sending Bill after him to drag him out of his hole and back on his feet.  
Bill had found him in New Orleans, a little over a month after Merriell had stepped off the train in Chicago. He'd immediately started making his way south, telling himself all the while that he didn't have a destination in mind. But it hadn't taken him long to arrive back home, the whole of the town proper one stretch of buildings along a single street. Merriell had prowled up and down its ramshackle length, eyeing the familiar shops, the far too familiar faces. They had all looked twice at him, it not being the sort of place that travelers typically wandered through, but nobody recognized him. He eventually made his way out of town, walking a path that his feet still knew, until the buildings petered away and the land gave itself over to water and trees, the ground soft and clinging to his boots, the sweetly pungent smell of the bayou rising up to meet him. He found the spot where their old cabin used to stand, but there wasn't anything left. Not a blackened board, not a spent bullet. It was all erased, like they hadn't ever lived at all. Merriell stood and thought about charging something large enough to leave a crater there in the earth, something the murdering lowlifes couldn't clean up and pretend hadn't existed. In the end he had just walked on, kept heading south.  
He'd never been to New Orleans before, but decided right away that he liked it. A body could get lost there, could let the city swallow them right up, and that was what Merriell set to doing. He spent his nights in one seedy bar after another, his days either passed out asleep or doing odd jobs, trying to scrounge up enough cash to keep him wall-eyed and numb. Money was tough to come by though, and so Merriell started prowling the bars with a hunting eye, looking for men slipping away into back rooms, for hard-faced locals who posted themselves near a door and didn't move.   
The first poker game he burst in on had been the only one where he had come close to being in danger. Well, in danger of dying, of being knifed and tossed into an alley, anyway. But he talked fast and laid the last of his money down and they grudgingly let him buy in. He made friendly with the men there and soon enough he knew all the spots where a man could go to try his luck.   
That's where Bill had found him, in the back room of a squalid little bar that smelled like piss and worse. Merriell was drunk, too drunk, was playing loose and talking a lot of shit and winning. The men he was playing with had gone surly and quiet, and Merriell knew he was in trouble, but couldn't bring himself to care.   
"Where're you from, Shelton?" One of the men asked, watching through narrowed eyes as Merriell raked in his winnings with a careless sweep of his arm.  
"North of here," he answered, grinning mockingly to himself.  
"Just about everywhere's north of here," another one of them said, and Merriell barked a laugh. "Got any family?"  
"None that would admit to me." He kept his mind black, didn't let himself see him, any of them. "Ain't nobody to miss, one way or the other." He finished off his smoke and stubbed it out on the table. Kept his gaze empty, his smile mean. "Why you asking? You boys wanna make a different sort of wager?" There were four of them, he could probably take two, maybe three, without resorting to blowing the place up, but four was too many. "I'm down. Long odds, big payout, that's my kind of game."  
They glanced back and forth at each other, stared at him stony-eyed. "Odds are with us," one of them said. "You get up and walk out that door right now, you can call it an even break."  
"Don't sound even to me. I walk, I'm taking this pile with me."  
"Then you ain't walking," the first one said, and pushed his chair back as he stood up. Merriell shoved the table hard into his gut, so that he stumbled back, then twisted and swung his fist into the face of the man sitting to his left. He managed to put a decent amount of force behind it, even half sitting like he was, and the man fell partway out his chair, hands going up to his face. Merriell jumped up, barely dodging a hastily thrown fist from his right, and flung his chair out wildly. It clattered to the side and didn't do him a bit of good besides making a racket. They closed in, and Merriell knew he was fucked, knew he should have cut and run, but he'd always been a goddamn fool, and he didn't see the point of giving in and changing now. So he fought back, tried to circle around them, keep them off of him, tried to make them hurt and work for it. But it didn't take long for them to get a few good solid hits in, and then one of them cracked him across the jaw so hard that his neck snapped back and he saw sparking lights. His head rang like a bell, and he shook it to try and clear it, and then another one of them barreled into him and took him to the ground.  
He still struggled, felt that old savage hate rise up swift and hot in him, but they beat it back out of him pretty quick and soon enough he was sprawled out on the floor with a mouth full of blood and everywhere pain and a dim, bitter sense of amusement. It was a long time coming, he supposed. He'd been asking for a beating for years and no one would give it to him, talked to him instead, saw him and knew him and let him know them. Christ, he hadn't deserved it, any of it.  
"Hand me that knife, Davie," he heard one of them say. "I'm done with this dirty coonass." Merriell laughed, let his head drop to the side so he could spit out some of the blood.  
"Hurry up, Davie," he drawled. "You boys gotta split your hard earned winnings." He stretched a hand out blindly across the floor, searching for something to charge.  
"Shut the fuck up," one said, giving him a kick.  
"Maybe we should leave him," another said, and then someone threw the door open and Merriell listened to a rising ruckus. Some good fucking samaritan had busted in to save the day, from the sound of it. He thought briefly about trying to stand up and help the man out, but his vision was grey and his limbs were heavy and he didn't care much at the moment anyway. The noise dropped away surprisingly quick and then there was just the sound of approaching footsteps.   
"Hell," a voice said. "I didn't know you were the melodramatic sort, Snafu. All this over a breakup?"   
Merriell frowned, turned his head back up and tried to focus in on the man standing over him, the cocky smirk, the skin unmarred from all it had been subjected to. "Bill fucking Leyden."  
"Come on, we gotta go." Bill reached down and hauled Merriell to his feet as he spoke, and Merriell leaned against him. "Jesus, you stink. You've really been wallowing in it, huh?"  
"Eugene send you?" Merriell asked as they stumbled their way out the door and through the bar, the occupants shrinking back and watching them go. "Did you see him?"  
"No, I left before they got back. Haldane sent me." They made it out to the street and Merriell let Bill lead him along, still leaning on him for support. "That's right, even halfway across the nation Andy can feel you making stupid decisions. He asked me to come out here and find you."  
"Don't need no goddamn caretaker."  
"No, just a kick in the ass. You weren't easy to find, you know that? Andy told me you'd probably head this way eventually, but I had a hell of time tracking you down."  
"Always were a bloodhound," Merriell said and Bill snorted. Bill led him to a small hostel that Merriell had been avoiding because he'd recognized it as a stopping place for mutants. Merriell let himself be dragged inside and came face to face with a sturdy Creole woman who looked him up and down with a scowl.  
"This him?" She shook her head. "I can't have no trouble tailing you boys back here."  
"It won't," Bill assured her. "And we'll be out first thing tomorrow."   
She grunted, still giving Merriell the stink-eye. "Take him up to the attic. I won't have him dirtying up my good beds."  
"Whole place smells like rotten oysters, won't nobody notice," Merriell threw over his shoulder at her as Bill hauled him towards a narrow set of stairs. She cussed him up and down in familiar French, vitriolic and imaginative enough to make him grin, which reminded him that his jaw fucking hurt. Which reminded him that everything hurt. When Bill finally opened the door to the little room at the top of the stairs, Merriell went straight for the one broken-down bed, tumbling down onto it with a grunt of pain.  
"Get up, Snafu, you're getting blood and whatever other shit you've been rolling around in all over the place." Bill's voice seemed to be coming to him through a long tunnel.  
"Fuck off," he said into the lumpy mattress. He faintly heard Bill's answering curse, then fell away into the best sleep he'd had in more than a month. Safe again.  
The room was gray lit when he woke up, early morning light filtering weakly through the dirty window pane. He sat up with a low groan, feeling every blow now, the pain strong as ever, just with a different quality. Bill was sitting with his back against the door. He didn't move when Merriell sat up, but Merriell could pick out the gleam of his eyes in the colorless gloom. They stared at each other for a long moment while Merriell turned over what to say in his head.  
"Couldn't hardly hold Sledge back, when you got hit," he said eventually. "Burgie nearly blasted a corpsman, but then Haldane told us to let it happen. Said he was gonna get you out."  
"Don't worry about it," Bill said gruffly, hearing what he was really saying. "I had it easier than you guys. Woke up on a boat, yelled at a lot of fuckers who pretended like they couldn't hear me. Took me back stateside and stuck me in some underground bunker and I'm barely there a day before Haldane walks in and breaks me out." Merriell could picture it. There wasn't much of a limit to what Andy could accomplish with his abilities once he set his moral qualms to the side. Merde, he missed him.  
"I ain't going back, Leyden."  
"Yeah. That's why Haldane sent me." Bill pulled a slim leather pouch from his back pocket, opened it up and pulled out a cigar. He clipped it with his teeth, then spat the end out. "I was feeling restless anyways. Things were too quiet back home, you know? Everyone's on some kind of extended fucking honeymoon, walking around all dopey with it. Even Haney seemed almost happy." He grimaced at Merriell, picking up on his curiosity. "I'll tell you later." He pulled out a lighter and continued speaking as he held the cigar over the flame. "And there I am, bored outta my mind, stalking around the place snarling at everyone who looks sideways at me."  
"Sorta like a badger, huh?" Bill looked up at him, startled, then gave a surprised laugh.  
"Fuck you, Snafu," he said, that same brash grin. "So anyways, Andy calls me downstairs in the middle of the night and tells me you aren't coming home. Asked me if I liked the idea of finding you and doing some traveling. I jumped on it, not gonna lie. A chance to get the hell out and still do something to help Haldane; it was exactly what I needed."  
"What's his idea?" Merriell stood up slowly, testing out his limbs, his torso. Nothing seemed broken as far as he could tell.   
"Visit communities we know about, try and get them to talk to us. Convince them to link up with other mutants, start working towards coming out of hiding." It sounded like Haldane, a loose and sure hand on the reins, directions vague enough to let them address the situation as they saw fit. But it was something else, beneath that. An invitation to come and go as they needed, a door that wouldn't shut. Merriell knew that if he really wanted to cut ties he should say no, should tell Bill to go his own way. But he didn't want that. He'd always been the sort to cling on, had always been shit at turning loose the things that he loved, even when he knew he might be better off letting go.  
"What'd he tell you?"  
Bill shrugged. "Not much. You know Andy. Just said things had taken a bad turn for the both of you, Eugene was coming home and you weren't." He finally put the cigar to his mouth, breathed in flame to set it alight. He glanced over quick at Merriell, then back away. "Was it Okinawa?" Merriell remembered how they had been when Bill got hit, close to hating each other, pulling in briefly and then shoving away. He remembered how Bill had been, circling the both of them, acting out to try and draw them off each other.   
"No," he answered, letting himself think for a moment on all the goddamn sweetness that had followed after. "It was later. I fucked up." He felt that itch beneath his skin again, the need to move, hit something, throw himself against something. He paced over to the window, looked down at the dirty street. "Haldane got a starting place in mind?"  
"He gave me info on the communities he knew about. There's one over in Mississippi that we could start with. But you fucking stink, Snafu. You gotta get a shower in before we head out."  
"Not back even a year, and you've already gone soft," Merriell scoffed. He turned back around and made his way towards the door. "Alright. Think that sour old queen will let me use her water?"  
It hadn't been so bad, traveling the country with Leyden. They'd had some fun, seen some things worth seeing. But they'd been at it for over a year now, and Merriell was tired of wandering. He'd been getting the feeling recently that Bill was, too. They boy wouldn't admit it, and hell, neither would Merriell, but they had both been thinking about home. But even missing it, longing for it, Merriell didn't know how he was supposed to go back. Because nothing had changed, really. He still missed Eugene.   
Even after mulling it over for more than a year, he still hadn't managed to envision a future where he was anything but greedy and grabbing with Eugene. It was a want that he didn't think would ever go away or be satisfied. But maybe that was the whole point. Even if he had everything that he wanted, the both of them naked and pressed skin to skin against each other, Eugene looking into him piercingly soft, even then it wouldn't be enough. Because it was more than wanting. It was loving, and if he was lucky it wouldn't ever stop growing, roots digging in deeper, searching for the core. He hadn't ever said it to him. He'd talked around it, tried to show him, but for some reason he'd never been able to come out and say it. Maybe it would have ended differently if he had.  
So, maybe he would go home. Merriell felt something start to unfurl in the center of his chest, something that had been clenched tight and hard. So, maybe he would have to start back at square one with the boy. So the fuck what, he'd liked square one. Flirting with him, teasing out what made him frown, what made him look twice. He'd take his time, take it slow. And when Eugene had relaxed a little, because there wasn't any doubt the man would be on his guard at first, Merriell would tell him.   
It was still black out, the only light in the town coming from the few lit up windows. But Merriell didn't want to wait. He slid the window open and clambered back into their little room. Bill was stretched out on his back, snoring away. Merriell plopped himself down on the side of his bed, making it bounce. Bill snorted and grumbled and tried to roll away but the bed was too small for him to move anywhere. Merriell bumped up and down in place, making the springs creak and groan.   
"The fuck is your problem?" Bill snapped, shoving half-heartedly at him.  
"Get up, Leyden," Merriell said. "Pack your shit. We're heading home." Bill lifted his head to look at him. Merriell couldn't see his face, but he knew Bill could see his. "West Coast is no good."  
"Haven't I been saying that?" Bill said quick, always ready to point out all the ways the Atlantic was preferable to the Pacific. Merriell couldn't really argue that point. He sat up, instantly wide awake, and swung his legs around to the floor. "Alright, let's go. It's about damn time."  
It was early September when the cab pulled to a stop and Merriell climbed out and stood facing Haldane's front door. He felt dully nervous, but was working to keep the feeling distant. He'd been away for three years, all told, but standing here and looking up at the house it seemed for a moment like no time had passed at all. He turned to watch Bill pay the driver, glancing around the drive. Everything looked just the same.  
"Jesus Christ, get a load of her," Bill said. Merriell turned around to see that a tall, regal looking colored woman had opened the front door, was staring down at them.   
"Can I help you?" She asked, her English accented in a way that Merriell couldn't place. She was a stunner, all darkly glowing skin, in a red patterned dress that clung to every sensational curve. She stepped off the porch, walked over to meet them. Bill whistled.  
"Lady, you've done enough," he said, looking her up and down appreciatively. She raised a brow and pinned him with a gaze that would suck any man's nuts back up into his stomach. It seemed to have the opposite effect on Leyden; he grinned like the predator he was and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet.   
"Where's Haldane?" Merriell asked, and she transferred that level gaze over to him. "Or the skipper." She frowned in confusion. "Jones? Haney?"  
"Haldane and Jones are in Pennsylvania," she answered after a moment. "Haney has gone for the day, but will return tomorrow." She looked back and forth between them. "Have you come to enter the school?"  
"Hell no," Bill said with a laugh. "We've already done that. We live here. Used to live here." He stuck his hand out. "Bill Leyden." She stared down at his hand for a moment, then looked him in the eye as she reached out and shook it.   
"Bill Leyden, yes. It is a pleasure to meet you." She looked back over at Merriell. "And you are Snafu, is that correct?" He grunted an affirmation. "I will call Eddie and inform him that the two of you have arrived. Welcome home. I understand that you have both been gone for quite some time." With that she dropped Bill's hand and turned back to the house. They both watched her walk away.  
"There she goes," Bill said. "The future Mrs. Leyden." Merriell snorted.  
"Boy, you better give that up here and now. She's worlds outta your league." Hell, the woman was close to half a foot taller than Bill and blindingly beautiful besides.   
"Aim high, right? Fuck, I got so busy watching her lips I forgot to ask her name." He tossed his pack to Merriell. "Gotta go." Merriell followed after him into the house, looking around slowly, taking the place back in. He'd almost forgotten how big and peaceful it was, how welcoming it somehow managed to remain despite all its fineness. He climbed the stairs and started down the hall towards his room, but stopped after only a few steps, stood there thinking. He dropped the bags in the hall and turned around, heading the other way, towards the door at the end of the hallway. Eugene's room. _Cool the hell down_ , he said to his sweating palms, his racing heart. _Be fucking calm_. He knocked on the door and opened it.  
There was a boy sitting at the desk, but it wasn't Eugene. He turned around as Merriell opened the door and stared at him in surprise. "Who are you?"  
"Where's Gene?" So much for staying calm. He suddenly felt barely tethered. He fought against the urge to go tearing through the house, opening every door until he found him.   
"Who?" Merriell's stomach tightened a little at that. Surely Haldane would have told him if Eugene had left, had gone home to Mobile or if, Christ, if something had happened to him. He felt himself starting to go a little blank with sudden worry but then the boy spoke again. "You mean Eugene Sledge? He doesn't live here anymore. Moved out months ago." He must have seen something in Merriell's face, because he continued quickly. "He's not too far from here. I can give you directions. Or if you would rather wait, I'm sure he'll be around in the next couple of days. He comes by regularly to see John."  
"John, huh? John. No, I ain't waiting around until he stops by to see fucking John." Merriell knew he sounded crazy, knew the kid was more than a little frightened of him at the moment. He stalked into the room, jabbed a finger down on the piece of paper the boy had been writing on. "Give me his address."


	24. Chapter 24

Less than an hour later he was standing in front of a small blue house with a yellow door. The bright, cheerful colors had Florence Risely written all over it. The boy, Sam, had told him how Sledge, Flo and Burgie had moved out together to make space at the school, and Merriell could already see their marks on the place. The straight lines cutting back and forth across the lawn from where the grass had recently been mowed was a sure sign of Burgie. The house was set a little back from the road, and it had flowers planted all along the front and sides of it. Those were Eugene's doing, no doubt. He imagined him working outside in the sun, making his way steadily around the whole of the house, planting each flower with care, dirty garden gloves and honest, simple sweat. Merriell was just talking himself towards walking up the steps and knocking on the door when it swung open. He saw the side of Eugene's body, his one arm. He was wearing a white long-sleeved shirt, and he hadn't looked out yet, was talking to somebody inside, his gloved hand settled on the handle of the door.  
"-still frightening, but I think we're ready," he was saying. "And Flo will be there the whole time, too." He moved in the doorway, making space for another person to step out, a boy wrapped up to the tip of his nose in a scarf, even though it was far too warm out for that sort of thing. The boy was scribbling something on a little notepad as he walked out the door, and Eugene followed after him, peering over his shoulder to see what he was writing. Merriell watched him realize that someone was standing beside his porch, watched his eyes flick over and stick straight into him. Eugene blanched, recoiling back like someone had hit him. He didn't look away. "Mer," he said, thin-voiced.  
"Hey, Sledge." Merriell was vaguely aware that the other boy had stopped writing, was looking back and forth between them, but mostly he was drinking in Eugene, wanting to squirm from the pleasure of being under the weight of those dark eyes again. It had unnerved him when they first met, the way Eugene looked into him all gentle and fearless. Then he had started craving it. That was around the time he started to fall in love, he supposed. Eugene's hair was cut short and neat, the front swept to the side so that the streak of white was easily seen. He looked handsome as ever, wholesome and sweet. Merriell felt that same old urge to get his hands on him, untidy him.  
"John," Eugene said, pulling his gaze away. Merriell let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "This is. This." He stopped, turned around with deliberately careful movements and shut the front door. "This is Snafu. Snaf, this is John. He's one of Andy's students."  
"Right," Merriell drawled, not looking away from Eugene. John scribbled something out on his notebook, then stepped down off the porch to show it to him.  
_Good to meet you. Eugene's told me about you._  
"Right," he said again, looking him over more thoroughly. There was something angry in his eyes, something hard and assessing, but that changed when he looked over at Eugene. He started writing in his notebook again, and Eugene left the porch to stand beside him, waiting patiently for him to finish. He looked briefly over at Merriell, his lips drawn tight, and then away again. John handed his notebook to him and Merriell watched his eyes move across the page.  
"Yeah," Eugene said eventually. "That might be a good idea. I'll come by tomorrow either way, let you know. Do you still want me to-" John shook his head, reaching out to take his notebook back. "Alright. I'll see you tomorrow." John gestured goodbye with his hand, giving Merriell one last vaguely hostile glance as he turned and walked past him. Eugene watched him go, frowning thoughtfully. Then he looked back over at Merriell, the frown transforming into something less thoughtful, more pained. "Will you come inside?" Merriell nodded jerkily, and followed Eugene into the house.  
The door led them straight into the sitting room, and Eugene gestured nervously to the space at large, as if indicating that Merriell could sit on the chairs or the rug or in the fireplace. "You want something to drink?"  
"No." His heart sank in his chest as he watched Eugene go over to a side table and peel his gloves off. He remembered that old habit, his bare skin a warning, a message to keep clear. _Slow_ , he reminded himself sternly. _Don't scare him off._  
"I'm sorry," Eugene said, turning back around to face him. "I'm happy to see you, really. Maybe it didn't seem that way just now. You surprised me." He tried out a lopsided smile. "Snuck up on me again."  
All the shit he was wanting to say, and he'd barely managed to get out five words. Merriell cleared his throat to dislodge all the clinging feeling, forced himself to fucking blink, ease up on the staring. "Leyden and me just got in. Found out you'd moved with Flo and Burgie, so I thought I'd come by."  
"You've been with Bill?" Eugene asked sharply, surprising him. "This whole time?" Merriell stared at him, and Eugene gave a short laugh and shook his head, a hand coming up to rake through his hair. "Would of been a load off my mind, off all our minds, if Andy had bothered to tell us that." He glared at Merriell, suddenly angry. "We've been worried sick over you. You shouldn't of-" he bit himself off and looked away, jaw tight. Breathed in sharp through his nose, and then back out. "You're staying?" He asked, looking hesitantly back over at him. "You're not just passing through?"  
Merriell grunted and looked away, shrugged. "It was getting old, wandering 'round. We figured it was time we headed back." He hoped Eugene had lost some of his uncanny ability to suss out his lies, hoped that little sliver of truth was enough.  
"That's good," Eugene said softly. "I'm glad to hear it." Merriell looked back over and he smiled at him, small and earnest. "I missed you." Merriell felt himself draw tight with hope and love and a mess of words, words it was way too fucking early to say.  
"Tell me what you been doing," he blurted out, surprising even himself with his sudden overwhelming need to _know_ , everything that he'd missed, everything he wouldn't ever get back. Eugene blinked, then laughed low, something in his stance easing, loosening.  
"Will you sit down?" He asked, gesturing to the couch. "Feel like you're halfway out the door, standing there like that." He had been lingering in the entryway, Merriell realized, the front door hanging open behind him. He closed it, then stepped over to the couch, hyper-aware of Eugene's eyes on him all the way. He sat down but couldn't bring himself to relax, perching on the edge of the cushion instead, hands moving restlessly along the fabric. Eugene settled into a chair across from him, separated from Merriell by roughly four feet and a coffee table. "I haven't been doing much, honestly," he said, fiddling with his collar. "Everything worth telling happened nearly as soon as I got back. Sid woke up."   
"You're shitting me," Merriell said, and Eugene grinned big.  
"I'm not. Him and Mary tied the knot right away, I got to be there to see it. They're both in school, and expecting their first kid any day now."   
"And you came back here?" Merriell had always imagined that if Sid ever woke up, Eugene would head back to Mobile for good. Back to his family and his friend, his old life that he'd thought was lost to him.   
"Course I did," Eugene said, looking askance at him. "It's home." They stared at each other a moment, and then Eugene looked away, his gaze drifting over to his gloves. "I help out some at Haldane's. I'm taking classes at the university."  
Merriell chuckled, settled back a bit in his seat. "What, you finally figure out what you wanna be when you grow up?"   
"Yes," Eugene answered promptly, seriously. "I wanna be right here, doing exactly this." Then he smiled, something shy and sweet crossing his expression and settling in his eyes. "Even more so, now that you're here. Did I mention yet that I've missed you?"  
Christ, how was he supposed to take it slow when the man looked at him like that, said shit like that? "I missed you," he said shortly, crossing his arms over his chest, looking away. He clamped his teeth together, but somehow his mouth kept on talking almost against his will, each word dragging itself free of his locked-up throat. "Tried not to think about it, how much I missed you. How fucking stupid I was, back in Peking, and then on the train with that-"  
"Stop," Eugene said, and Merriell looked back at him, stomach churning with distress. "You don't gotta apologize for any of that. You didn't," he trailed off, looked down at his hands. "We both made mistakes," he muttered. "Don't see any reason to tally them up and measure out which one of us is the bigger idiot."  
Really, it was better than he had hoped for. Eugene was happy to see him, had admitted right off that he'd missed him. There was something different about him, like some part of him that had been only dimly lit before had brightened, set him all aglow. He smiled more easily too, Merriell had noticed that right away. And there was something subtly changed in the way he moved, although Merriell hadn't had a chance to watch him enough to pin down exactly what it was. But for the most part he was the same as he had been. Perfect. Merriell knew he should keep it light, work his way back to where they were before, earn the right to say it to him. But all Eugene's walls seemed to be down already. And Merriell had never had any self control, anyway.  
"There ain't no contest," he said dully, settling his gaze somewhere around Eugene's chin, the line of his neck. "I'd take that prize. Shouldn't ever stepped off that goddamn train. You were laying there, sleeping all peaceful." He watched Eugene's throat convulse, stared hard at the movement. "I should of shook you awake, yelled at you. Told you how I loved you, how no part of you would be enough to satisfy, 'cause I wanted it all, more, every day." He looked back up at Eugene; he was staring at him intently, his face stiff, something burning darkly in his eyes. He stood up suddenly and moved to the door. Merriell felt a surge of panic. "Gene, don't," he said, jumping up and following after him. Merde, he'd fucked up already, said too much and put the man back on his guard. He grabbed him by his elbow, then let go immediately when Eugene turned back around to face him. "It don't matter," he said urgently. "Or, shit, it all matters, not just that. Wanna hear your voice just as much as I wanna touch you. Talk to you, watch you. All of it."   
"I was just locking the door," Eugene said evenly. Merriell watched, confused and overwrought, as he turned around and did just that, slid the dead bolt into place and then moved away. He went to the window and drew the curtains, the light coming in soft and unsure, the lamps in the corners lending a yellow glow to the walls.   
"I'm trying to tell you that I fucking love you," Merriell said between gritted teeth as Eugene turned around and came back towards him. He had a look in his eye that almost made Merriell think he was about to get slugged, except Eugene's hands were bare so that wasn't it. "If you'd quit zipping back and forth like a damn June bug and just-" Then Eugene's mouth crashed against his and his mind went blank.  
He half lifted his hands, to grab on or push away, he didn't know. But he was too stunned to finish the motion and so they just hovered there between their bodies as Eugene put one bare hand along the back of his neck, then slid the other up under his shirt and gripped his side. His hands were warm and firm, his fingers felt like they were stretching long against his skin. Eugene kissed him hard, then peppered little, heated kisses all along his lips, clumsily fervent. Merriell stood frozen under the sudden onslaught, not able to understand a single goddamn thing. Then his back came up against the door and he made a small sound of surprise and Eugene huffed a warm breath of air against his mouth and pulled back.  
"It's my first kiss," he said dryly, his eyes dark coals. "So it might help things along if you participated a bit."  
Something wild snapped loose in Merriell at that, ricocheted its way through his body, flicking everything awake. He reached up, set his hands along the sides of Eugene's neck, slid them along his skin until he had his ears cupped between his thumb and index finger. Then he kissed him, but he couldn't even figure out how he wanted to kiss him so it just ended up being a fucking mess. He slid his tongue demandingly against Eugene's teeth, delved in fleetingly when Eugene's mouth opened for him, then pulled back and sucked his long bottom lip in between his own. Eugene moaned, and that made Merriell moan, and he licked at the corner of Eugene's lips and then kissed him open-mouthed again.  
"Fuck," he breathed against Eugene's teeth and tongue. "Fuck, fuck, what the fuck?" Eugene ran his hand up Merriell's side, along his ribs and back down again, like he was trying to soothe him. That reminded Merriell of all the skin he could apparently touch now, and he started fumbling with the buttons of Eugene's shirt, fingers thick and shaky, their mouths still locked together.  
He hadn't noticed when his back left the door, hadn't even realized that they had been making their way across the room, Eugene moving gradually back as Merriell pushed against him. But then Eugene tripped over the coffee table and went falling backwards, and Merriell followed after him because no way he was fucking letting go, and they both landed on top of the mostly glass contraption and it shattered beneath their combined weight.   
"Shit, cher, you alright?" Merriell asked, getting back up to his knees and hauling Eugene after him by his shirt. He had automatically grabbed him by his clothing, avoiding his skin: old habits that he'd trained himself to follow. The fall and Merriell's grip on him had torn the buttons free of Eugene's shirt, exposing pale skin that Merriell's eyes latched on to.  
"Burgie just brought that home for Flo," Eugene said, twisting his neck around to look at the ruined bit of furniture. Merriell leaned over and clamped his mouth down on his exposed throat, and Eugene made a croaking sound of surprise, his hands coming to settle on Merriell's thighs. Merriell sucked hard against his skin, then swiped his tongue along the spot.  
"Shouldn't put useless little tables where folk are trying to walk. Let's get you outta this shirt. S'got glass on it." Eugene huffed a laugh.  
"Just looking out for me, huh?" His voice was teasing, but Merriell pulled back.  
"You gonna let me?" He couldn't put into words what he was really asking. He didn't know himself. He reached down to tug at the sleeve around Eugene's wrist, but got distracted by the feel of their fingers brushing together. Eugene stared back at him, those dark soft eyes moving right through him.   
"Yeah," he said. "I am." He moved his hand slowly, turning it palm up and winding their fingers together. "Will you let me?" He asked, not looking away.  
"Hell, Eugene," he said, feeling like he could burst and fly apart. He kept their hands knotted together as he slid forward into Eugene's lap, heedless of the broken glass all around them; they'd pressed close together through worse, after all. Eugene wrapped his arm around his waist and Merriell twisted his free hand up through Eugene's hair, scraping his fingers along the scalp as he went. Eugene let him tip his head back, and Merriell kissed him the way he should have from the first, slow and thorough, taking the time to do all the little things he'd been fantasizing about for years. He chased the faint taste of tobacco in Eugene's mouth with a shiver of pleasure, bit down on his lip with varying degrees of pressure until he found the one that pulled a deep chested, needy groan out of Eugene. They started to rock against each other, familiar desperate movements, and Merriell moved to bury his head against Eugene's shoulder to stop himself from doing something he shouldn't, and then remembered that he was already doing several things he wasn't supposed to be able to do. He came back to Eugene's mouth and kissed him hard, a sudden surge of confusion and anger working through him. Eugene's arm tightened around his waist; he squeezed Merriell's hand.  
"Let's get off the floor," he murmured against his cheek, and Merriell clambered obediently to his feet, let Eugene tug him over to the couch. Eugene settled them so that they were sitting side by side, and Merriell pushed Eugene's shirt open and lowered his head so he could attach his mouth to the skin over his collarbone, slide his tongue and teeth slowly over the length of it.  
"Gene," he said into the warm flesh, running his hand convulsively along his side. "What the fuck is going on." Eugene kissed his ear, his jaw, his bare hands slipping back under his shirt and making their way slowly up his spine. Merriell fought the urge to arch and purr like a cat.   
"I don't deserve this, Mer," Eugene muttered, spreading his palms across his back and pulling him in closer. "You don't understand." They were so wound up together that Merriell wasn't sure who was sitting in the other's lap, but Eugene nudged his nose insistently against Merriell's cheek until he pulled reluctantly away from the skin he'd been nibbling on. Eugene leaned back a little too, one hand leaving Merriell's back and finding his free hand instead. Eugene fiddled with his fingers, that old restless gesture of his. "I was so fucking scared for so long. Pushing away the things I should of been running towards. Haldane said it to me nearly the first day I came here, but I didn't wanna hear it. All the barriers were in my own head." He looked up at Merriell. "I started to figure it out shortly after I got back. Been waiting for you, hoping you'd come back, hoping you would still want this." His lips flattened and he pulled Merriell's hand up and buried his nose and mouth against the palm. "I swear, if I'd known how to find you, I would of. Would of tracked you down and begged you to give it another chance, give me a chance."  
"No need to start begging now, I'm already here," Merriell said. He pulled his hands free, set them against Eugene's chest and pushed him down on the cushions. He braced himself above him, rolled his hips deliberately against Eugene's, watching his eyes darken and grow sharply intent, locked with his own. "Might be nice though," he drawled. "Think maybe I'd like to hear you beg a bit."  
Eugene gave a wobbly, broken little laugh. "Please, Merriell," he said. One hand came up to cup Merriell's cheek all sweet and gentle. His eyes were open, his voice was soft and low. "I love you. Please."  
"Eugene," Merriell said, or tried to say. It sounded too close to a sob for his taste, so he clamped his traitorous mouth down over Eugene's to stop himself from falling apart all over the man. It got intoxicatingly strange after that. Eugene's hand still came up to grip hard on Merriell's shoulder when he reached down and stroked him, but this time Merriell wrapped his fingers around hot smooth flesh unobscured by layers of clothing. They still watched each other as they moved together, but this time one of Eugene's bare hands was clinging tightly on to the short hairs on the back of Merriell's head, and one of Merriell's hands was holding both of their cocks, the sensation heady, overwhelmingly sharp. Merriell still cursed and said Eugene's name as he came, but this time he panted the words against Eugene's parted lips, and afterwards he slithered down the length of Eugene's body and sank his mouth down on him. Eugene came almost immediately, hips thrusting up, head falling back, and Merriell couldn't help the smug grin he knew was taking over his whole face as he slid back up along Eugene and kissed his slack lips.  
"Jesus, Snafu," Eugene said.   
"It only gets better Sledgehammer, just you wait."   
"Couldn't," Eugene said with a happy laugh, a new laugh. His hands came up to run along Merriell's sides and then down along his back, and this time Merriell did purr, a rumbling moan of pleasure as he sagged against him, dropping his face against his neck. "It really couldn't."  
"Don't push it," Merriell mumbled into the dark hollow of Eugene's neck. "I'll fucking show you." Except he didn't think he could possibly move at the moment, he hadn't ever felt so goddamn content before. But Eugene grabbed on to his shoulders and pulled insistently, and Merriell lifted his head and let Eugene kiss him.   
It was a new experience for him, laying boneless and liquid, giving it all over to someone else and kissing back only passively. Eugene kissed him inexpertly, clumsy and earnest and sweet, so sweet. Something needled him painfully in the chest, but Merriell knew it for what it was. He let Eugene tilt and turn his head as he liked, felt the pleasure and need start to slowly grow up again, but he wasn't ready for that yet, he wanted more of this, this indolent slowness, limbs heavy and everything soft, the whole world muted and hazy.  
He didn't know how long they went on like that, scarcely moving except to adjust their holds on one another, sighing quietly back and forth, but eventually Eugene shifted beneath him, pushed him gently. "C'mon. Flo and Burgie could be back any minute." He glanced down at the shattered and forgotten coffee table, then back up at Merriell. "We don't wanna be here when they see this," he said, lips pulling back. Merriell grinned, delighted as always by Eugene's rare indulgences in irresponsibility.   
"Better take me to your bedroom," he murmured, and Eugene got a look in his eye and tugged him to his feet. Merriell didn't bother to refasten his trousers, just held the front together with one hand and followed Eugene. They moved back through the house and started down a set of stairs, Merriell looking the place over as they went.   
"It's a little small, but we like it," Eugene said, catching him at it. "Think you'll like it too." He went on, not even knowing what he'd done to Merriell. "Burgie and Flo are upstairs. We're down here." They reached the bottom of the stairs and turned into the room. It was one open space that Eugene had made his own. Two walls on either side were lined with hopper windows, and Merriell could look through them and see the flowers that Eugene had planted along the borders of the house. Eugene's bed was shoved up beneath one row of windows, and he had placed a desk beneath the other. The middle space was comprised of a bookcase and a couple of ancient looking armchairs.  
"Big bed," he said, smirking at Eugene and lacing the words with meaning.  
"It is," Eugene replied soberly, looking back and not blushing a bit. "I was thinking about you when I bought it."  
Merriell didn't know what to say to that except, "Take off your clothes." Eugene's expression didn't change. He closed the small distance between them and slid his fingers into the gap of Merriell's loose trousers.  
"Rather take off yours," he said. They undressed each other, then lay down side by side on the bed. Eugene reached out and skimmed a hand along Merriell's hip, his eyes following the motion. Merriell felt his lids growing heavy in response, but didn't want to look away from Eugene, his soft expression, his clean, lean body. "Tell me what you did after you got off the train," Eugene said, a gentle command.  
And Merriell did, told him about traveling south, about going home and then on to New Orleans and Bill finding him. Told him about the places they visited, the mutants they'd met. Then Eugene told him about going back to Mobile, about coming home and working with Haldane to master his powers. He told him about John, about his classes at the university. They touched each other as they talked, shifted closer and then away, learning a new, less tempered way to move together. At one point they heard footsteps above their feet, Burgie and Florence's voices coming muffled through the ceiling, but Eugene curved a possessive hand around Merriell's ass and pulled him flush against him when Merriell looked consideringly at the stairway, and they ended up staying where they were, sinking into each other again. It wasn't until the light has disappeared completely from the windows and the smell of food started drifting its way down the stair that they finally got up and redressed.   
Burgie was standing at the stove when they walked into the kitchen. "Hamburgers are almost done," he said, not looking up from the stovetop. "Flo's got a pie in the oven. Shouldn't feed you boys a damn thing after what you did to her coffee table." He put the spatula down and turned around. Merriell stepped up to meet him, and Burgie wrapped him in a tight embrace. "Snaf," he said, voice going all gentle. "You sure took your time."  
"S'all for you, Burgie. You wouldn't know what to do with yourself without me giving you something to fret over," Merriell answered, feeling a little choked.  
"Let's try it out and see," Burgie said, pulling back with a grin. "Go set the table."  
"Don't know where nothing is."  
"I'm sure Sledge will help you out." Burgie turned back around, still smiling, and Merriell followed after Eugene and watched him do all the work. Then Florence came in through the back door with a tomato and greens from the vegetable garden, because apparently they had one of those too, and by the time Merriell pried her off of him Burgie was carrying the food in on a big platter that he set down in the middle of the table. They sat down together, Florence beaming at all three of them. Merriell watched her reach across the corner of the table and take Burgie's hand in her own, and realized with a start that he could do the same with Eugene, if he wanted. They were safe here. He could touch him now. He eyed Eugene's hand, set loose and empty beside his plate. But it was too much, the idea of touching him like that with Burgie and Flo watching. He shifted a little closer in his chair instead, bumped their knees together. Eugene looked over at him and moved his hand down to settle it on Merriell's leg. Something about the touch pulled Merriell back to that first time, the two of them sitting alone in their tent on Pavuvu. Before Peleliu and Okinawa and Peking. Just like then, the world outside was dark, chock full of unknown dangers. But inside was comfort and warm light, a space that they had carved out together. Merriell put his hand over Eugene's, breathed in slowly as he stared down at it and absorbed the feeling of Eugene's skin against his own. He looked back up and found Florence watching him with a soft expression, her eyes clear, open windows.  
"This a regular thing?" He asked, gesturing at the four of them sitting around the table. He wasn't against it, but it was a little odd. They'd never taken their meals together like this at Haldane's.  
"No," she answered, smiling. "But today's a special occasion." Merriell mumbled wordlessly and took a bite of his burger, embarrassed.  
"And it's not done yet," Burgie said. "Call came through at Haldane's for you, Sledge. From Mobile."  
"Was it Sid?" Eugene asked. Burgie nodded, and Eugene's eyes swung over to Florence. "Mary had the baby?"  
"Sid says to tell you that he expects his son's Godfather to be at the baptism," Florence said with an impish grin.  
"I gotta pack," Eugene said, pushing back in his seat. "Stop by the school and talk to John. We were already planning on putting it off after Snafu-" he stopped suddenly, turned towards Merriell. "But you just got back," he said slowly, looking intently at him, into him. Merriell made sure to empty his face of the burgeoning disappointment. He pulled up a thin smirk, stretched his hands behind his head in a pantomime of nonchalance.  
"Don't worry 'bout me sugar, I'll be just fine." He wormed his foot up Eugene's pant leg, held his gaze.  
"You sure?" Eugene asked in that low, intimate murmur of his, like they were the only two people in the room. "We've scarcely-"  
"What you think I been doing for the past year, Sledge," Merriell said scathingly. Eugene looked stricken, and Merriell cursed inwardly. He pushed against Eugene's leg with his foot. "I mean it," he said shortly. "It's fine." Eugene stared hard at him, then nodded slowly and turned back to his plate. Their exchange hung heavy over the table for one fraught, silent moment, and then Florence cleared her throat and moved conversation along, and Merriell focused his attention on his food.   
It was ridiculous. So Eugene would be gone for a few days, that wasn't anything to get morose over. It wasn't like he expected them to be together all the time anyways. Haldane's battle was just beginning, after all, and they would both go where he needed them. It was a mistake to count on being able to live in each other's pockets. And what the fuck did he have to complain about? He had him, had everything he wanted. But he still had to fight off an unhappy scowl. Eugene pressed his shoulder against his, and Merriell looked over at him.  
"Come outside for a smoke," Eugene said. Burgie and Flo were standing up, gathering dishes. Merriell nodded and stepped out the back door while Eugene ducked downstairs to grab his pipe and Merriell's pack. Merriell settled on the steps, digging his toes down into the grass. The night was mild, but he knew from experience that there was scarcely a month left before the cold started to sweep back in. Had to enjoy what you had while you had it. He tipped his head back and closed his eyes and by the time Eugene opened the door and sat down beside him he was feeling almost peaceful. Merriell lit a smoke and watched Eugene expectantly, but he just fiddled with his pipe, turning it over restlessly in his hands. "I don't have to be there," he said eventually.  
"Sure you do," Merriell said with a huff. "The boy's your best friend." Eugene's lips pulled flat.  
"Don't wanna do anything that'll make you unhappy," he muttered. Merriell looked away. "You don't gotta pretend. I get it. You just got home, haven't even had a moment to breathe. Course you don't wanna head back out."  
"What?" Merriell said, turning back around to look at him. Eugene put his pipe to the side, reached out and wrapped his fingers around his wrist.   
"Christ knows we haven't had any luck with trains," he said wryly. "Feel like I've never been anything other than miserable stepping on or off of one. But-"  
"You want me to come along?" Merriell cut in, and Eugene looked up at him, startled.  
"Yes, of course," he said. "What did you think we were talking about?"  
"Thought you," Merriell said, and then stopped. He grunted and looked away, thinking back on what had been said.  
"Snafu." Eugene's arm came around his waist, his nose nudged its way beneath his jaw. Merriell tilted his head and let Eugene slide his lips along his neck. "You idiot," he murmured between slow kisses. "You're not getting away from me that easily. I'm holding on to you." Merriell took a long pull off his smoke, fighting back a pleased, relieved grin.  
"You just wanna trot me out to shock your folks," he teased. "Gonna send your ma into hysterics." Eugene snorted softly.  
"She'll survive it," he said. "I want them to meet you. Want you to meet Sid." They leaned against each other, shoulders and knees pressed together. Merriell moved to flick his cigarette stub away, but Eugene stopped him, took it from him and ground it out and stuck it in his pocket. "It's just for a couple of days. We can head straight home after, if that's what you want."  
"You got something else in mind, chéri?" Merriell asked, watching him, his chest a tangle of bruised, riotous feeling. Eugene shrugged the shoulder that was pressed tight against Merriell's own, lips pulling down against a smile.  
"I dunno," he said. "Thought maybe we could go on that fishing trip."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and a second thank you to everyone who left a kudo or comment. And, finally, a third thank you to bearkare. *cue the lights and serious music* Turns out, it's super stressful releasing a work in pieces over the course of several months. I had days where I would read over what I had written and feel so dissatisfied with it and myself. I definitely had weeks where I didn't feel like posting. Whenever I felt like that, I would go back and read one of your wonderful comments, and I always found something in there to make me feel more sure of myself and what I was writing. Thank you, thank you, thank you. Honestly, you and everyone else who left encouraging comments share a part in this work being completed. *lights back to normal*  
> So that's it! Hope you enjoyed it!


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